


Stepping Into Fate

by zombolouge



Series: What is it with Redheaded Rogues, Anyways? [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: ALL THE SPOILERS, DON'T GO IN THE BASEMENT, F/M, Garbagetown, Morrigan's sass, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Some Fluff, Some angst, Terrible assassins, The Fade Still Sucks, beginning of a long series, dorky virgins, double mabari power, slight AU, some smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 14:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 61,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3451268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombolouge/pseuds/zombolouge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Melody Cousland and her first steps navigating her momentous fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ...Short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which height is not an issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was updated on 09/20/2015 as part of my reworking of much of this series. You can expect a lot of updates to this piece moving forward, mostly editing to clean it up, but I will likely expand some parts and possibly add new ones. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Melody spent the entire ride to Ostagar staring off into space. The horses plodded on, her own beast being willingly led forward by Duncan's, the thing’s head as vacant as her eyes as she stared listlessly at the unfamiliar Ferelden terrain. She knew she was in a state of shock, but she didn't want to bother snapping out of it. What was the point? Nearly her entire family had been wiped away before her very eyes, and now she was off to become a Grey Warden in the hopes she could...do what, exactly, she wondered? Was she looking for revenge? For some kind of purpose to fill the gaping hole where her loved ones used to be? She was no hero. She was a cheeky noble who would rather spend her days sneaking off to play cards in the tavern than running off to save the world from the blight. At least darkspawn were less likely to take all her father’s money, she thought sardonically, although the humor didn't register on her bleak face and did little to actually cheer her.

Duncan, for the most part, had left her to her silence. He had been there, had seen her father's blood covering the floor as her mother vowed to stay and fight. He was a wise man for realizing she needed space right now and not endless coddling. She could tell he sympathized with her, could tell he felt for her plight by the way the corners of his mouth dipped downward just a bit every time he happened to glance her way, but in the end she had been willing to come join the order, and that was all he really cared about. Duncan was a recruiter, through and through, and as long as she was still following he would bear her silence and answer it with his own.

Were all Grey Wardens so gruff? He had the eyes of a man that had once lived a bright life, but the lines on his face were those of a man who had seen too much to hold on to that light. Maybe it was something in the oath, or something in the burden of their duties, that drove him to such a dour mood. Or perhaps he was as affected by the slaughter of her old life as she, although she doubted anyone could truly understand such an abrupt loss.

Would it trouble her to join an order full of men such as this? Would she welcome the shadows as they enveloped her, or grow tired of them as the sting of her loss faded? And more importantly, _would_ that pain ever recede? As they approached the great ruins of the city, Melody pondered the answers to those questions, chewing on the inside of her cheek and wishing her eyes would stop stinging. She blinked away the moisture, turning her head from the wind and pretending she was stronger than the willowy branches swaying above their heads. If she focused hard enough, she could almost believe she hadn't snapped miles ago and been trampled by the inevitable march of time.

Ostagar was a mess when they finally arrived. Armored men shuffled about the old ruin everywhere she looked, and a general sense of panic filtered off of everyone, creating a dark pall over the area. Clattering metal and brusque voices filled the air, a cacophony that assaulted her ears after the long silence of the ride. The din gave her a headache in a matter of minutes, but she refrained from speaking as they dismounted their horses and approached the long bridge. They crossed in continued silence and she began to wonder if the Wardens were under some sort of compulsion to speak as little as possible. Perhaps it was just another facet of this order she had been promised to. If so, she would possibly fit in better than she had thought, assuming that she would continue in this state of shock forever, a prospect that did not seem entirely unlikely.

“Take some time to get acquainted with the area,” Duncan's voice startled her into meeting his eyes. “Find Alistair when you are ready, he will bring you to me.” and with that he stalked off towards the center of the camp, leaving her standing there feeling utterly abandoned.

She glanced around, not having the foggiest idea of what direction to start in. Get acquainted with the area, he had suggested. Right. And what should she be ready for before locating this Alistair? Sacred Warden rituals? Dancing in the moonlight to praise whatever surly god of order they served?

She forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and began meandering around the camp, trying to remember what she was passing in case she needed the information later. She vaguely registered the locations for an armory, mabari kennels, tents of various sizes, but it was all filed straight to the back of her head. The noise and colors were a decent distraction, keeping her mind from focusing too sharply on what she had been through, but the memories of the attack on her family's estate were ever present, gnawing away at her ability to live in the present. She would likely forget every step she had taken through the mass of people gathering for the coming storm, but perhaps getting lost was not the worst of fates. She could lose herself in the crowd, walking until her legs gave way and she sank into the boot churned mud, and just let the world pass her over as she succumbed to the elements and the darkness.

Her thoughts were finally breached by a voice carrying across the clearing. She walked towards the sound, drawn to the man's amused drawl as he responded to his rather angry conversation partner. As she approached she could see a tall man in warden armor leaning against a crumbling pillar, arms crossed over his chest, smirking at a mage who was gesticulating theatrically as he spoke. Short cropped blonde hair clung to his head, and his rounded cheekbones rose as he smiled broadly, unperturbed by the robed figure's anger. Perhaps this was the man she was supposed to be looking for. Melody froze for a second, realizing that in her aimless wandering she had completely forgotten what his name was supposed to be. She swallowed thickly as she took a tentative path over to them, taking her time and straining to listen to the conversation, hoping the mage might call the smiling warden by name and she would be saved from a potentially awkward conversation.

“Awe, and I was going to name one of my children after you...the grumpy one.” the warden said, and the mage huffed dramatically in response before storming off. The blonde turned to face her and let out a gusty sigh, rolling his eyes before he said “That's what I love about a Blight. Brings everybody together.”

Melody laughed, much to her surprise. She couldn't help it. His disaffected look, his sarcastic comment, the sparkle of utter mischief in his wonderfully brown eyes, it was all a combination that created a perfect storm that blew away all her melancholy and brought just a little light back into her chest. It was inexplicable, but it was good to know she still had some mirth left in her, good to know that it hadn't all been lost in the halls she had left behind, broken and burning and echoing with the screams of her family.

She shook her head and dispelled the dark memories from her mind, letting the sound of her own laughter rattle around in her chest for a moment. It gave her a bit of hope. Hope that she could still navigate the future when her past lay in ruin, hope that the world had not been truly overtaken by shadow, hope that perhaps she wouldn't hate being a warden quite so much as she feared. It was good to be reminded what that kind of hope felt like, and she flashed the mysterious man the brightest smile she could muster as thanks, wishing she could remember his name.

 

***

 

Alistair heard her laugh and immediately felt like the ground had shifted underneath him. He had half a mind to kneel down and touch the stone underfoot, just to make sure it was still there and everything was solid. The woman before him flashed him a smile that felt too bright, too stunning to be allowed to exist, and it was difficult not to avert his eyes to hide from it. For what felt like a million years he stood there without breathing, watching her watch him without a thought in his head other than how much he desperately wanted to hear that laugh again.

She was short, a good foot shorter than him, but she felt imposing to him anyways. She had mid length, wavy red hair which was currently tied back in a ponytail that bounced behind her with every movement, rippling down her back between her shoulder blades like a burgundy waterfall. Green eyes like the forest in the early dawn light peered out through long, curled lashes, and dark rose lips stretched into a smile like velvet dusk. A smattering of freckles graced her cheekbones and the bridge of her elegant nose, moving upwards as her face split into a grin. And Maker, the sound of her laugh was like music, notes dancing on the wind as though sent directly from the heavens. He was about seventy percent convinced the mage had in fact used blood magic to summon some kind of desire demon in retaliation for his sarcastic comments. It wouldn't be the first time his mouth had gotten him into more trouble than he could handle.

She seemed to consider him intensely for a moment before her eyes grew wide, and with a little gasp she nearly cried out before biting down on her lip to control whatever outburst she had been about to make.

She cleared her throat, carefully composing her expression to one of polite interest. “I really hope you're Alistair.” she said, much to his surprise still standing before him and refusing to disappear even after he shook his head and blinked at her like a fool.

“I'm sorry, have we met?” he asked her, confused that she seemed to know him and positive that if they had met before he would have recalled it.

“No, sorry, I'm Melody.” she replied amicably.

“Yes, that makes sense.” he mumbled, thinking of her laugh, and she tilted her head at him in confusion. Internally he kicked himself for being an idiot, but out loud he said, “I mean, yes, Melody, pleasure to meet you, how can I help you?” it all came out in a rush and he had to fight the urge to flop on the ground and start playing dead in the hopes she would leave and he could die of embarrassment in peace.

“Duncan told me to find you.” her smile wavered and something shadowy passed over her features. The light in her eyes dimmed and the warmth seemed to fall from her face. Alistair found himself greatly resisting the urge to pull her into a hug, which would undoubtedly have been awkward for everyone involved. She had him resisting a great many impulses, in fact, which was incredibly disconcerting.

“Ah, so you must be the new recruit.” he said, clasping his hands firmly together behind his back. “I'm sorry, I should have recognized you sooner. I didn't expect you to be so...” _attractive, alluring, enchanting, beautiful,_ a thousand words flew through his head and he only just stopped himself from finishing that damned sentence with any of them. She tilted her head at him again, a delicate eyebrow rising up as she regarded him. Maker damn his stupid mouth, now he had to find a way to finish that sentence without looking like a fool. Where were the damned words in his head...

“Expect me to be so what?” she finally prompted him, her face a mask of patient curiosity.

“...short.” he said out of desperation, wincing at his own ineptitude.

Her posture stiffened and she crossed her arms in front of her chest, curiosity being replaced with offense. Perfect, he thought, not five minutes into knowing the newest inductee and he had already ensured that at the very least she thought he was a moron and at most given her cause to hate him.

He felt as though he blinked and suddenly a dagger was being held to his throat. In truth he did see her move, saw her reach behind her back and draw the blade, swinging it up to poke just slightly against the skin of his neck. She was on her tip toes to do it, but the danger was there and real enough. She had him in such a way if he even dared to breath too deeply she could end his life. He swallowed the whimper that tried to rise out of his throat. Oh good, he thought, even better, she was going to kill him outright and then he would miss the whole blight.

She flashed him a wicked smile as she brought her free hand up to the collar of his armor, gripping it and tugging him down so that their faces were of even height, the tips of their noses nearly touching.

“Will my height be an issue, Ser Alistair?” her breath tickled his face with each word. He could feel himself blushing furiously while his brain seemed to melt, all of his thoughts scattering as he was swallowed up in those eyes and their sudden proximity to his own. He could feel his breathing speeding up and Maker he could smell her, like leather and honey, which only served to increase the intoxicating effect she had on him. “Well?” she prompted him after a moment, and he realized he had failed to reply to her previous question.

“N-no, my lady, no trouble at all, no issues, you are a very accomplished and incredible warrior, magnificent really, I am not worthy to be skewered by your majesty, clearly you are very tall on the inside...” he began rambling, only vaguely aware of what he was saying. He finally trailed off when she started laughing, doubling over and dropping the dagger on the ground as she held her sides and laughed hysterically at him. He straightened himself and cleared his throat, watching her dissolve into a pile of giggles completely at odds with the dangerous woman she had been a moment ago.

“Oh, the look on your face...” she wheezed. She took several deep, bracing breaths to pull herself back together. “Alistair, I am so sorry, I couldn't resist.” she told him finally, hands outstretched in a placating gesture.

“Well, I can't say I didn't deserve it.” he managed, not sure if he was more embarrassed at being put in his place or at just how much he didn’t mind after seeing her reaction.

“Whew, I need to thank you for that. I don't think I have actually cracked a smile, let alone laughed, since...” and her smile melted away, being replaced with an icy frown. “Since being recruited.” she finished, trying to pass off the sorrow like it wasn't really there, like the walls of shadow and ice that had suddenly leapt around her heart were a figment of his imagination.

He wanted to ask, wanted to pry and find out where all that sadness was coming from, what could possibly weigh on her heart so heavily that it would smash that laugh before it could bubble out of her lips anymore. He did have the good sense to know now was not the time, however. Whatever it was she was holding in was too fresh to discuss, and he was not cruel enough to pursue the truth when it would cost her so dearly to tell it.

“Anytime. I'm always willing to gloriously humiliate myself for other’s amusement.” he smiled at her as widely as he could, feeling as though he was trying to pierce her gloom with only his face. She smiled in return, although it didn't reach her eyes.

“So, Duncan told me to find you and we can get this whole joining business underway.”

“Splendid!” he clapped his hands together as he spoke, “Let’s go gather the others and Duncan can explain what happens next.” He unclasped his hands and made a sweeping gesture with his arm in the direction they were about to walk. She smiled at him again and moved forward, her movements determined and sure.

He let out a silent prayer in his head that her first day as a warden would not be her last.


	2. Since You Asked so Nicely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which nobody remembers the name of the recruits and Flemeth sees all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited on 09/21/2015

The two other recruits, whose names she had not bothered remembering, were incredibly annoying. What little honor she had felt at being recruited by Duncan was rapidly disappearing as she realized her peers included an overzealous moron and a sniveling coward. The entire trek into the Kocari wilds to collect the darkspawn blood and Warden documents would have been completely unbearable were it not for Alistair, but she could tell even his considerable patience with the two men was wearing as thin as spring frost.

Their mission so far had been quite the ordeal. Tasked with collecting vials of darkspawn blood to facilitate this mysterious "joining", they had wandered the edges of the murky swamp until they came upon a group of the snarling creatures. Melody had never seen darkspawn before, but of course she had heard stories. The distinguished knights and military men that graced her father's halls used to talk of their daring exploits, and no small number claimed to have single handedly defeated a rogue group of darkspawn as they had wandered through the roads of Thedas. It was never explained how they encountered their foes above ground, nor why they were up and about at what was usually the middle of the night, but as a bright eyed girl who chafed at the trappings of nobility Melody had never needed to bog down the excitement with truth. Darkspawn were always described as fearsome beasts, soulless monsters that sought to destroy whatever they encountered. They were the living embodiment of the Maker's rage, sin brought to life and thrust upon a world that had not shown enough obeisance to please their god. Melody was never sure if she believed the Maker would truly send darkspawn upon His children. Surely a god had more compassion than that? But she _did_ believe in the gruesome reality of the evil that lurked beneath her feet, and though she dreamed of adventure and daring feats of heroism, she had always thought darkspawn were one enemy she would rather not face.

It seemed there were a great many things that wouldn't be going as she had always planned, however, and so she had found herself drawing daggers against a thing with yellowed fangs and fetid breath, withered skin stretched taught over muscle and bone and fury. She had been forced to bite down on her tongue to keep from screaming as the Hurlock lunged at her, and though she tasted blood she held in the cry of fear as she drove her blades into its chest.

Alistair had been an impressive sight, dispatching three of the enemy with practiced efficiency. She wished she could say the same for the other recruits, but they had nearly gotten themselves killed in their slothful response, one shaking in fear and the other staring stupidly at their foe as though unable to comprehend the start of battle. By the time the dust started to settle around the bodies Alistair had given her a grateful smile, for without her help he might not have been able to fight against their numbers, small as they were. She was incredibly proud that she could prove herself useful, and she found the burning adrenaline of battle in her blood was the best distraction she had found yet.

They only had to find the Grey Warden documents before they could return, but Melody was convinced she would go insane before that happened. The two whining fellow recruits were bad enough, but in addition she felt the creeping sensation of eyes tracking her through the swamp, putting every last one of her nerves on edge. She couldn't tell if anyone was actually watching her, since every time she searched the brush she could discern no movement beyond the skittish wildlife making their way out of the darkspawn infested woodlands. She _had_ caught Alistair gazing at her with an odd expression on his face a couple of times, but this didn't seem to be the source of her unease. He seemed more preoccupied with his ill concealed confusion after she had taken the flowers she collected for the sick Mabari and tucked them into her hair for safekeeping. She knew she probably looked like a silly little girl, making him doubt the quality of herself as much as the other two recruits, but she didn't want the petals to get crushed in a bag or pocket, and this was the next best solution. Hopefully she had proven herself enough in battle that they would not renounce their offer of recruitment, although Alistair seemed to good natured to do something so drastic as recommend her dismissal.

She caught his gaze for the third time in the last hour, and he gave her an unreadable expression before promptly looking away, the tips of his ears tinged with pink. She took a moment to picture what she must actually look like to a warrior such as himself, and she almost started laughing at the image that conjured. She was covered in dirt, grime, and the entrails of several different types of beasts, sweat trailing down her back from the exertion put forth so far that day, and yet her hair was tied back neatly in a ponytail with a wreath of pure white flowers atop her head. No wonder Alistair looked at her like she was a particularly frightening apparition. She probably looked like a vision of insanity, albeit one who could hold her own in a fight. No matter, though. She was unconcerned with what people thought of her right now. She was about to become a Warden, to dedicate her life to saving a world she wasn't even sure deserved to be saved, to defeat a blight half the people she talked to didn't think was real. Her parents were dead, her dog was missing, and her home was occupied by hostile forces. She had nowhere to go and no one to turn to. What did it matter if she looked like a deranged forest spirit? At least she was doing something, keeping herself from dwelling on the memories plastered behind her eyelids.

“This is the place.” Alistair said as they approached a small ruin, his voice jarring her out of her own internal trance. She looked around at the crumbling walls of what once must have been an outpost of some kind. It was not very impressive to see, and she doubted that fact would have changed even in its glory days, but the fact that it held what they needed made it a beautiful sight to her. They could get the documents, get back, get initiated, and get on with this battle. She wasn't sure what came after that, but at least there would be lots of middle bits where the two annoying recruits would not be arguing right behind her, and _that_ was something to look forward to indeed.

Splintered wood and warped metal glinted in the hazy sunlight, and she turned to see the remnants of an ornate chest, part of the great griffon crest still visible among the wreckage. She could see the faded outlines of the protective runes that had once graced the surface of the ornately carved piece, but apparently they had done little good, as the thing was smashed to bits and empty. Alistair walked up next to her, staring down at the chest and looking slightly crestfallen.

“Well, I suppose it was too much to hope that something would go right for a change.” he shrugged and gave her a wilted little half smile. She wished she had something comforting to say. She didn't know why, but his disappointment felt like it sat heavily on her shoulders. She opened her mouth to respond with what platitudes she could manage, but before the words could be born from her lips she was interrupted by a stranger.

“Well, well...what do we have here.” the dark, lilting voice carried across the ruin like the first whispering of wind from an oncoming storm, and they spun to face her while drawing their weapons, ready should she prove to be as ominous as she sounded. The woman who spoke was walking down the stairs behind them calmly, a swagger of complete confidence to her steps. She wore next to nothing, soft burgundy material draped in such a way to cover her breasts but little else and a skirt formed of tattered leather draped along her legs. Her raven hair was pinned in a messy bun, and Melody could see the oaken staff strapped to her back, the feathered tip sticking over the top of her head. Alistair had noticed the staff as well, and his whole body tensed as he gripped his weapons tighter.

“It's a witch of the wilds!” the Coward recruit whimpered. Melody exhaled slowly, rolling her eyes at the man.

“They turn you into frogs!” The Idiot recruit replied, his nasally voice increasing in pitch. Melody resisted the urge to ask the woman if it was true and request she perform such a feat on Idiot and Coward immediately. For her part the woman spared a scathing glance at the two quivering men before turning her attention back to Melody and Alistair, and the way her gaze made the fools sweat made Melody immediately like her just a bit better than she had a moment before.

“Pray tell, what brings the likes of you to a place such as this?” she asked them, a smirk across her dark, pouty lips.

“This is a Warden outpost and you have no business being here.” Alistair snapped at her. Melody spared him a small glance from the corner of her eyes. He was scowling at the newcomer, not much happier than the other recruits, and she wondered idly if he had a fear of magic as ingrained as that of most people in Thedas. She had never understood the fear much herself, but then Melody had always been an inquisitive child, and magic seemed much like any other dangerous practice: with the proper precautions it could be quite exciting, and only fools and villains ever neglected the safety measures.

“You could not have any inkling of what my business is, Warden.” she purred at him, and then with a dismissive smile she turned away from him, fixing Melody with the full intensity of her gaze. The yellow, cat-like eyes looked Melody up and down, as if trying to pry out her innermost secrets with only her stare. Melody resisted the urge to squirm and held herself firm, staring back with a look she hoped was unwavering. “You there, you look like a wise and...capable woman. What brings you to my wilds?”

“There were Warden documents here." Melody explained, keeping her voice polite but firm. "Do you know where they have come to be?”

The witch flicked an unseen fleck of dust off the fabric on her shoulder, smirking and feigning boredom. “Aye, I know where your precious cargo lies.”

“You stole them!” Alistair accused. “Those rightfully belong to the Wardens. Give them back.”

Melody wanted to rap his knuckles in admonishment, surprised at his sudden petulance. Why he thought demanding they had a right to something someone else had would make them any more likely to turn it over she would probably never understand.

“I do not have your documents, Warden.” the witch said haughtily. “But, I can lead you to the one who does.”

“Might I ask your name?” Melody asked her, feeling it uncharitable to keep calling her 'the witch', in conversation or in her own head.

She smiled at her, approving and slightly amused of the request, if Melody was reading her right. “I am Morrigan.” she dipped her head in a formal nod, as close to an acquiescence of respect as they were likely to receive.

“Morrigan, I am Melody, this is Alistair, and they are...recruits.” she finished lamely. Idiot and Coward scowled at her for the lack of introduction, but frankly she couldn't give a nug's ass about their opinion of her.

“Would you be willing to take us to the documents?”

“Since you asked so nicely.” she said, her tone decorated with a heavy dose of sarcasm. She shrugged and started walking off, leading them, or so Melody hoped, to where the documents were held.

 

***

 

When they finally reached the clearing Melody was again ready to murder Idiot and Coward, who had begun leering at Morrigan with a wholly inappropriate level of glee. Morrigan seemed equally irritated by the attention, but was keeping any backlash in check while she traveled with them, for which Melody couldn't decide if she was thankful or disappointed.

She was thankful that they seemed to have reached the end of their trek through the increasingly soggy bog. An old, dilapidated hut now stood before them, the shabby building looking as though it was being held together by the sheer force of will of its occupants and nothing more. Melody noticed the haggard woman standing near the rickety porch, looking as though she had been awaiting their arrival.

The crone, at first glance, seemed unremarkable. She wore an old, tattered dress over a thin, wasted frame. Her hair was a tangled, greasy mess hanging down around her face, completely grey with age. There were wrinkles across her mottled flesh and a deep sag to her cheeks, the skin clinging to high cheekbones that could have been regal thirty years ago. It would have been easy, were Melody a traveler merely passing through, to take a glance at the woman and ignore her entirely, never thinking she was anything out of the ordinary. Her eyes drew attention, though. Yellow like a cat's, just like Morrigan's, unlike any Melody had ever seen before. Looking into them filled her with a sense of disquiet, a feeling that she was looking into a little piece of eternity locked behind a golden door. Those eyes held things, secrets of the world no one person had a right to know, and Melody had a desire to turn on her heel and run away. She wanted to race into the wilds and lose herself, forget duty and revenge and all the pieces of life that had come together to make her a person, to sink into the murky waters of the swamp and let the mud and mildew erase what she was and what she might become. Those eyes held fate, and fate was not something Melody felt capable of facing at the moment.

“I see you have finally arrived.” the old woman said in lieu of any greeting, her voice deep and gravelly.

“Mother, they seek the Warden treaties.” Morrigan walked over to stand beside the old woman, looking as though she was already bored with the entire ordeal.

“I know what they seek, dear girl, and it is so much more than old documents nearly lost to time.” the crone was staring into Melody's eyes, and it felt like being set adrift at sea, being pulled away by a tide too strong to fight against.

“I suppose you aren't just going to hand them over politely?” Alistair asked dubiously.

“I saved them for you, why would I withhold them?” the old woman retorted. Alistair furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Who are you?” Melody blurted, her curiosity taking hold of her and obliterating any other concerns she might have had.

“I have been many things to many people, child. You, however, may call me Flemeth.” she said. Melody felt a tremor pass through her at the name. This moment, this small moment in the clearing confronting the witch, suddenly felt too large for the space it was held in. It felt like time was expanding outward around it, the meaning locked within her eyes straining against the confines of reality.

“Great, yes, and she's Melody, I'm Alistair, they aren't important,” Alistair gestured to the recruits as he spoke, shaking Melody out of her temporary trance. “Can we have the documents back and get going please so we can all return to the world of sanity?”

Melody wanted to kiss him for being so utterly normal in the middle of what felt like the weirdest moment of her life.

Flemeth seemed amused, but nodded, producing the documents for them without any further preamble. "Since you asked so nicely." she drawled.

Alistair grabbed the scrolls, tucking them into his bag and eyeing Flemeth as though he expected her to double cross them at any moment. Without saying another word, he turned on his heel and marched back into the thick brush, putting the hut and the strange experience behind him as hastily as he was able.

"Um, thank you Flemeth. Thank you, Morrigan. It was...very nice meeting you." Melody told them quickly, watching as the other recruits followed Alistair.

"Go, girl. Run along before your fate moves on without you." Flemeth told her. Melody halted her retreat, gazing at the crone in quiet unease as Morrigan rolled her eyes. They remained that way, for a moment, each sizing the other up, and Melody was unsure if she should say something, and if she should _what_ she should even say. In the end she decided she had very much had enough of the witches of the wild, and she turned and fled the clearing almost as quickly as the men, glad to be putting it all behind her. Melody could feel those eyes watching her as she left, and she couldn't help but feel that something momentous had happened here, something that she knew she could not possibly understand, but desperately needed to.

She was silent for a time on the way back, lost in her own thoughts, which were heavy with things she didn't think she would ever be able to put words to.


	3. Protector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melody tells her story and Alistair gets a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited 10/16, this one flows a bit better hopefully. All subsequent chapters are going to be deleted because this is going to become a mess if I don't. I'm going to lose all of your lovely comments but I WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER THEM IN MY HEART.

“So, what brings a girl like you to an order like the wardens?” Alistair asked as he matched his stride to hers, the question breaking into her silent contemplation. She realized that she must have been brooding, and so she met his gaze with a smirk as she thought of her response.

“Do you mean _short_ girls like me?” she asked wryly, and he made a strangled sound that was somewhere between mirth and embarrassment. She delighted in the slight blush that crept over his cheeks, watching the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose darken even further.

“I should just never speak. I should just shut my trap and let all the smarter people do all the talking.” he muttered.

She bumped her shoulder against him playfully, smiling in earnest and once again feeling all the heaviness around her heart fall away. “Nonsense, where else would I get my entertainment?” He flushed adorably again before narrowing his eyes at her.

“You're evading the question.” he accused, the cadence to the words like a song.

She sighed heavily, disappointed that he hadn't dropped it. Part of her wanted to tell him, to reveal the truth and let the poison of what happened empty from her veins, to let him heal it with a smile and a laugh. Another part of her was sure if she opened her mouth all that would come out was darkness, more black than the darkspawn blood in the vial at her hip, and once it started it would never stop, flooding the world with the vast empty void she could feel swirling in her chest.

“My family's estate was attacked by Arle Howe's men, and my entire family was killed." she said in a rush. "Duncan saved me from...what was left, and then he recruited me.” she very carefully avoided looking at his face, but was forced to turn back to him when he halted his forward momentum, his feet sticking to the ground like they had been locked in place by magic. His mouth was agape in utter horror, and she was surprised at how the regret and hurt swimming in his eyes seemed to make every pain within her own heart magnified to new, impressive heights.

“Maker's breath, I'm so sorry...I didn't...I mean, I wasn't trying to bring it up...I just...” she watched him flounder, his mouth working as he tried to find his words, trying to think of something suitable to say. It was exactly why she hadn't wanted to talk about it with anyone. There _was_ nothing to say, there was no appropriate response to that kind of thing. "Can I...do anything?" he asked finally, and despite the contrition in his eyes the corner of his mouth quirked up just a fraction, and it was enough of a smile that it shattered the ice building up within the moment.

Something about that question from that man making that face made it better. There was something in his eyes that didn't feel like pity, that didn't feel as unwelcome as the reactions she had anticipated getting from people. She was drawn to it, and involuntarily took a step towards him, closing the gap between them. He moved a gloved hand up to grasp at her elbow, his thumb moving gently back and forth while she lost herself in his eyes, entirely forgetting what she had been about to say. “If there is anything I can do, let me know.” he reiterated, and his voice was low and soft, a serious tone she hadn't heard from him before. A small shiver went down her spine as her imagination immediately ran away from her, thinking that the voice was just for her, thinking of the things it could say to her. She chided herself immediately, unused to her thoughts taking their own course like that, and she mentally shook herself, trying to dispel the strange feeling.

Before she could collect her thoughts to speak, Idiot and Coward broke the moment, walking past them and arguing loudly about whether or not Morrigan would have slept with either of them, along with rather colorful descriptions of her anatomy. She groaned and let her head fall against Alistair's armor, forehead smacking against the cold metal in an effort to drive the conversation from her mind.

“Yes, there is something you could do. Do you think you could promise to keep these two as far away from me as possible?” she asked him, looking up, relieved to see a smile on his face again. He dropped his hand from her elbow as he grinned at her, and she immediately missed the contact.

“As the lady commands.” he bowed before marching off, barking orders at the two morons, who quickly shut their mouths and picked up their pace. Melody laughed at the scene, her stomach shaking as she let out the tension that had been building along her spine, and he glanced back at the sound, looking utterly victorious.

 

***

 

“You're the one that saved him! Why is he following _me?"_  Alistair complained, watching the mabari trace his every step as he walked in a circle around Melody.

“Maybe because I already have...had a mabari.” she stuttered on the tense, wondering if Indra was actually still alive, wondering if she was out there wandering the world alone or left at home, a pile of ash and bone and regret. She hadn't seen her since the attack, but she didn't have very high hopes that she had made it out of the turmoil back at the estate. She didn’t have high hopes that _anything_ of her old life remained. Maybe it was better that way. Maybe it was better that it was all burned away, so that nothing could remind her of everything she had lost, so that she could be reborn from the depths of the smoke and flame to start anew. Yet thinking of Indra left another hollow in the middle of her chest, another spot that seemed to suck the light right out of the world, because it was another thing that had vanished and she would never see again.

“Dogs like men better.” Idiot commented, and Melody turned towards him, intent on finally giving in and punching him in his stupid, stupid face, before the hound jumped between them and started growling at the man, hackles raised in protest. He snapped his great jaws, baring his teeth, and Idiot backed away slowly, his face so stricken with terror that Melody had to stifle a laugh.

“I am pretty sure he disagrees.” Alistair said airily, smiling at Melody as she gave him a satisfied grin.

She turned away to look at the mabari. “What a good boy!” she cried, and the dog bounded to her, wagging his tail with that exultant expression only dogs seemed to be capable of, pure joy and wonderment distilled into the flapping of one long, pink tongue. He reached her and barreled into her, knocking her onto the ground and showering her with affectionate kisses, coating her in a fine sheen of well-meant slobber. She laughed uncontrollably, halfheartedly trying to fend him off even as she scratched behind his ears. Finally he left to go stand at Alistair's feet, looking immensely proud of himself. Alistair gave him a horrified look before moving to help her up, and she accepted his extended hand to lift herself off of the sodden ground. She dusted herself off, covering her hands in mud and doing little to remove it from her backside, but there was something about being covered in dirt and dog affection that felt like home, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Maker’s breath, are you alright?” Alistair asked, and she laughed in response.

“You have to name him.” she told him, ignoring his question in favor of keeping the attention away from herself. He looked down at the dog leaning against his leg, waiting patiently for his master’s approval. Alistair reached down and ruffled the fur on the dog’s head, and Melody watched the exchange and allowed it to fill her with warmth. “Every mabari needs a good name.” she concluded. The hound whuffed in agreement.

“I've never named a dog before.” Alistair told her, tilting his head to the side as he considered him. “What about Barkspawn?” he offered. The dog laid down and buried his face in his paws, whining piteously, and again Melody couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, apparently not.” she said.

Alistair pouted at the dog before he turned to her. “What did you name yours?” A small twinge of sorrow passed through her, but she ignored it, determined not to spoil the moment, willfully holding the pleasant expression on her face.

“Indra.”

“Indra? What kind of a name is that?”

She crossed her arms and set her jaw, frowning at him. “A perfectly good one, thank you very much.” The dog barked in agreement, and she gestured to him excitedly. “See? He agrees.”

“He clearly has terrible taste. He's following me, after all. No one should follow _me_.”

She laughed again, wondering how this man was able to make her do that so much. The sound died off gradually as they both regarded the dog, considering what to name him. The mabari tilted its head, his ears moving expressively as he watched them watch him.

“How about Xander?” Alistair offered finally. The mabari jumped up, wagging his tail and barking happily. “Oh, I think we have a winner!”

“I like it. Does it have a meaning, or do you just like the sound?”

“Well, it's an old word I heard once that means 'protector'. He seems to like protecting you, so I thought it fit.” Alistair shrugged, flushing slightly. He bent down and grabbed the dogs muzzle in his hands, insisting on making eye contact as he spoke. “You hear that boy? You're the protector now, so you're in charge of keeping her safe.” Xander looked from Alistair to Melody, then made a soft, airy sound, as though in agreement. Then he was bounding around them in circles as Alistair stood up, taking a step closer to her to avoid the dog's over-exuberant reaction. Melody giggled at the scene before her, unable to contain the joyful sound, and feeling the darkness be driven back with each second they remained in this moment. She looked back, and briefly it felt like they were the only two people in the world, grinning shamelessly at one another and standing just a little too close, just a little too comfortably. There was no oncoming blight, no estate laying in ruins or dark omens delivered by witches in the wilds. There was just a laughing girl and a grinning boy, leaning on each other because it felt like the right thing to do.

“Are we going to the joining or what?” Coward complained, snapping them both back to reality. She fervently hoped that after the joining some amazingly vital warden emergency would require exactly two recruits to be sent far, far away from her.

“Right, yes, shall we?” Alistair motioned them onward, and Melody took the first step into whatever destiny was in store for her.


	4. Meant for More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melody chooses to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited on 10/16. SO, here is the first chapter of totally new content, HOPE WHOEVER IS READING THIS LIKES IT.

The sky seemed to be hanging heavy above their heads as they followed Duncan into the small clearing where they were to undergo the joining. Clouds formed massive, looming formations that rolled across the air and made the world seem smaller, like all of existence had folded in on itself trying to hide from the oncoming storm. The grass beneath Alistair’s feet muffled the sound of his footsteps, creating only a soft rustle as he walked alongside Melody. She stared at the ground, a small furrow forming across her brow, and he longed to take her hand and drag her away, to take her somewhere that had sunlight and happiness, to leave behind all of this darkness and burden.

He was not ready for this. Unlike the three new recruits, Alistair _knew_ what was in store. He had been in their place not long ago, standing in a line of hopefuls and waiting to start a new life for himself, a life away from the stifling clutches of the Chantry. For him the Wardens were an escape, a way to make something of himself where before he had always been nothing. He could _belong_ with them, and to the Alistair of six months ago _that_ had mattered more than almost anything. He was proud of what he had done and what he had become, and until this very moment he would have recommended it to anyone who was brave enough to take the risk.

Yet he wanted to stop Melody. He wanted to pull her aside and tell her that this wasn’t worth the risk. He wanted to tell her about the danger, about the nightmares, about the way it looked when someone didn’t make it…but most of all he didn’t want to lose her. He couldn’t imagine watching her drink the mixture and turn ashen white, clawing at her throat and croaking as the air in her lungs was devoured by darkness. Just the idea of that happening to _her_ made his stomach churn, made his heart slam against his ribs, made his eyes sting as though filled with shards of glass.

He could say nothing to her, of course. He was a warden, he had taken oaths, he had made vows that meant something, and he couldn’t say a word to her until she had become one herself. Even if he _could_ tell her, who did he think he was to have a right to do so? He barely knew her, had only just met her. What business was it of his if she wanted to join the wardens? How could he possibly understand what it was like to have a real family and lose it? Maybe joining the order was the only thing left to her, and maybe if that option was taken from her death would be a kinder option. The idea made Alistair want to be sick, but he couldn’t comprehend how she must be feeling. He had always been alone, always been on the outside. He knew he couldn’t fathom what it was like to have something to lose, much less to actually lose it.

Alistair hadn’t prayed in a long time. He had stopped putting much trust in the Maker after he had learned so much about the Templars and how they operated. Yet in this moment he found himself sending a desperate plea to the silent god. _Let her live_. Yes, it was true he barely knew her. Yes, it was true that he probably couldn’t even understand her. But it was also true that he didn’t want to lose her. She was important, somehow. Maybe to the order, maybe to this war, maybe just to him…but she was _meant_ for something, he could feel it. Maker help them all, she was meant for more than death on the cold ground in the ruins of some ancient fortress.

 

***

 

She could feel the air pressing in on her, sticking to the insides of her lungs as the clouds kept a cadence of gloom and thunder overhead. The world felt alive with electricity, with unspoken purpose and tension, with fate and adventure wrapped up in the thick veil of apprehension that settled along her spine. This was _it_ , this was the moment she could never turn away from once it had happened. It would shape everything she did forever onward, and the finality of that realization sent ripples of icy thrills into the depths of her stomach. Melody was casting off the burden of her past, casting off the shredded tendrils of a childhood she could never return to. She was becoming something else, something more perhaps, and in so doing would change the way her threads were woven in with the rest of the world’s. She could feel it in her bones, feel it fill her lungs as she bit her lips to keep them from trembling, feel it in her nerves as every brush of wind lit her up like the lightning flickering on the horizon. It seemed she had finally arrived, and whatever this moment would hold, she would face it with as much bravery as she could muster.

The silence of the party as they walked into the clearing was overbearing, a hush between them that let her know she was not the only one contemplating such heavy thoughts. Even Alistair looked somber as he walked beside her, his eyes steadfastly pointed ahead of them. She had grown accustomed to Duncan’s sour demeanor, but it was strange to see Alistair match it. It was nearly enough to give her pause, to make her steps falter and her resolve waver, but in the end she knew this was her purpose. Melody didn’t have anything else to turn to. She didn’t have another future she could seek; she didn’t have another life waiting for her, should she choose to turn back. Everything she had known was dust, torn from her unwilling hands by the cold winds of fate, and it was fitting that she present herself to the consequences in this storm of somber purpose.

Duncan stopped at his intended destination, in the center of what once might have been a beautiful garden, now overgrown and abandoned, white columns topped and crumbling, grey from the stains of time and the paltry light filtering through the clouds. He turned to them, meeting each recruit’s eye as the wind picked up, tossing her hair in her face as her skin tingled from the sudden cold.

“You have done well to come this far, recruits.” Duncan smiled, though it was tightlipped and did not reach his eyes. “This day you make your choice; you move forward with an action that cannot be undone. Let your doubts fall away, let your fears dissolve. On this day you undergo the joining, and will be Grey Wardens forever after.” He nodded, satisfied that he had said what he needed, and gestured for Alistair to bring the vials forward. They looked darker in the shadowy light, but nothing could have prepared her for the darkness in the vial Duncan carried in his own pocket. The long tube that he held gingerly in his fingers was made of simple glass, stoppered with a wicked claw molded from scales of iron. The liquid within seemed to shimmer with an utter absence of light, drawing the faint remnants of the sun into its depths, swallowing everything around it in evil and despair.

Alistair held out a silver chalice, emblazoned with the wings of the mighty griffon, and Duncan upended the three bottles of darkspawn blood into it. She could smell the foul taint from where she stood, and she had to focus not to turn her face, to avert her senses from something she had been taught all her life to avoid. Duncan lifted the larger vial then, and she watched mesmerized as he pulled the stopper from the top, tilting it slowly so that the blackness within began oozing out into the chalice. Noxious steam rose from the depths of the cup. As she stared she could swear she saw threads of red folded within the shadows, but every time she tried to focus they disappeared, devoured by the endless ebony midnight in the vial. When Duncan seemed satisfied that he had added enough he lifted the vial, stoppering it again quickly as though afraid the contents might escape. Melody swallowed thickly around the desert that had appeared in her throat, and she bit the inside of her cheek to give herself something to focus on besides the fact that she knew, _knew_ , that there could be only one reason they poured such a concoction into a _cup_.

Duncan nodded to Alistair and the plucky blonde turned to face them, his brow furrowed and an unnatural frown on his lips. He looked them over and his eyes seemed to hesitate as they hovered over her, his gaze never quite meeting her own. Then he lurched forward quickly, walking a strangely long path towards Idiot rather than herself, despite the fact that she was the one standing closer. Alistair presented the cup to Idiot, and the man took it with a slight tremor in his fingers, staring at the contents with as much disgust as Melody felt in her own stomach.

Duncan cleared his throat, and when he spoke the words were strong and even, echoing in their hearts as well as the clearing. “Join us, Brother. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you. Drink, and become a Grey Warden.”

Idiot hesitated for only a moment before he quickly brought the cup to his lips. He drank deeply, his throat bobbing as the muscles pushed the vile concoction into his stomach, one third of the contents of the chalice filling his insides with wicked sin. He handed the cup back to Alistair, and Melody was impressed that he did not gag, that his fingers no longer shook, that he did not immediately retch and spill the liquid all over the forlorn grass.

For one crystal moment everything was fine. For one moment Idiot had become a grey warden, he had made something of himself. For one shining moment they could all be proud, they could all look towards a bright future of duty and valor, of bravery and purpose.

Then the next moment came, and the recruit’s expression fell as all the color drained from his face. His hand flew up to clutch at his throat as his mouth opened and closed, empty choking sounds making their way up out of his chest. Melody watched in horror as the veins just beneath his skin filled with darkness, his skin turning grey as the darkspawn blood overtook him. His eyes bulged out of their sockets as he took a lurching step forward, and Alistair had to step back to avoid his flailing arms. He sank to his knees, wheezing and writhing in pain and suffocation. By the time his body sank into the loamy grass he was no longer moving, and it was over. His time as a grey warden was snuffed out so quickly that they could barely comprehend what had happened.

Melody took a half step back from the grim scene, shaking her head as though she could throw the image of his lifeless body from her mind if she tried hard enough. This was not glory, this was not honor and duty. This was an empty death in the middle of a ruin, this was a thief in the night, stealing away a future, stealing away redemption, and leaving nothing but empty promises scattered to the wind. This would not be her escape; this would not be her new beginning. After all she had told herself, all she had promised to keep herself standing against the endless tide of mourning, in the end she would follow her past, she would drown where her family had burned, and then there would be nothing left of the Couslands in this horrible, bitter world.

“What just happened?!” Coward cried, backing away from all of them. Alistair looked at him sadly before he averted his gaze, while Duncan remained stoic, a man made of stone unmoved by the sudden shift in the storm.

“He died a grey warden, and his death will be honored.” Duncan told him.

“A grey warden? He _died_. He drank that…that _sin_ and was a warden for all of two minutes before he…he… _look at him_.” Coward took another step back, holding up his hands as his voice rose in pitch. He shook his head violently as Alistair took a step towards him. “I’m not doing that. I have a kid at home, I’ll not die in some field a thousand miles from home.”

Duncan sighed. “You promised yourself to the order, you cannot turn back now. You must undergo the joining, and should you survive you must dedicate yourself to our purpose. As I said before, today you move forward with an action that cannot be undone.”

“To the _void_ with that, I won’t drink that stuff!” he screamed and took another step back, and this time Duncan moved towards him.

“Do not do this. Find your courage man, do not make me do this.” Duncan spoke quietly, his words whisper soft but loud enough to reverberate in Melody’s head. Her heart was beating against the confines of her chest as she watched the scene unfold, the blood in her veins rushing through her so loudly it sounded like thunder in her ears.

Coward shook his head. “Never!”

It was over in an instant. Duncan drew his daggers and had them lodged in the man’s chest before he even had time to react, before any of them had time to react. His body fell next to their comrade’s, his blood seeping into the grass as his sightless eyes glared at the sky. Melody’s mouth dropped open, but where she thought she might scream she was only met with silence. It seemed she had used up all her screams, left them behind somewhere on the road. All she could do was look at the two men and feel the pit in her stomach grow deeper, grow darker, until she thought it might swallow her whole.

“We must protect the order. We must always protect the order.” Duncan said, his voice low and sad. He cleaned his daggers and replaced them in their sheaths, turning to her. She met his gaze and saw the remorse in his eyes, though it would do little to bring the life back into the bodies before them. She glanced to Alistair, still holding the chalice, and for one brief moment their eyes were locked together, and she caught a glimpse of what seemed to be blind terror before he turned away, staring at the chalice without blinking.

“Melody.” Duncan’s voice drew her attention back to him, and he was standing before her with a question in his eyes. “Are you ready?”

So this was what it had come to. She could die with a blade in her chest, a coward who turned from her promise and scorned her own fate. She could add her blood to the grass, add her flesh to the soil, and end it all here and now, to be washed away by the coming rain, trampled by the elements and time. Or she could drink death itself. She could take that chalice and look eternity in the eye, daring it to take her life from her. She could spit in the face of darkness, snatch her own mortality back from the hands of fate. She could die, this much had been proven by the poor soul that had gone before her, but Melody decided she would not allow it. Right here, right now, she would believe she would live. She would believe that she would walk out of this clearing and help stop this blight. She would become a grey warden and she would avenge those that she had lost. She had made a promise, she had taken Duncan’s hand and rushed out of the fire and she had sworn she would join him. She had dedicated herself to this, and whatever it might be, whatever might happen when her lips touched that silver rim, it was what she was meant for. She might not be strong, and she might not be brave, but she _would not break her promises_.

She pushed past Duncan and marched with steady footing to Alistair, taking the cup from him before he had a chance to hold it out. She lifted it and took a deep breath, possibly her last, and then she tipped it to her mouth, closed her eyes, and let the darkness in.


	5. Keep Your Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ostagar falls and Flemeth nudges fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, hopefully those of you who were subscribed will get a notification that this has been updated. All the previous chapters have been rewritten, and chapter 4 is ALL NEW. ARE YOU GUYS READY FOR EXPANDED STORY STUFF? WERE YOU DYING TO KNOW MORE ABOUT MELODY?
> 
> Lol enjoy everyone.

She could feel the taint meandering through her bloodstream, a dark itching sensation where there had been nothing before. It was effective in making her feel unholy, dedicated to a purpose both meaningful and disdained, something necessary but kept in the shadows, too distasteful to bring to light and actually examine. She was a thing now, a tool to be used and discarded, a weapon against the sin brought to the world by the Maker’s disappointment, a tool that would eventually break under the demands of her use. She could feel the clock ticking away with every second, the sharp knife of time carving away at her with every beat of her contaminated heart.

Worse than that was the crushing sense of guilt and shame. Two men had died, the two men she had treated callously and thought ill of the entire time she had known them. She hadn't liked them, but she had certainly never wished, or never meant to wish...she shut her eyes as she sat on the cold stone, trying to remember to breathe around the sorrow filling her lungs. What had happened to them was not fair, not even for them, and now she was left with the realization that she had been so dismissive of a pair of lives, lives that had belonged to people, lives that had existed in the world and interacted with it, lives that had been cut all too short…and that dismissal would be all they would ever know of her. She never gave them an ounce of respect, never bothered to give them a chance to be more than a silly nickname in her mind, and she would regret that always. Whether they had deserved her respect or not, it had not been her place to judge that. Now they were gone, and she would never get to rectify the mistake, she would never get to be a better person for them, and she would never get to know if they were more than what they had seemed.

Xander sat with her quietly as she stared off into the distance, the trees swaying in the wind as errant drops from the storm that was nearly upon them started peppering the ground. Alistair was speaking with Duncan about their tactics for the upcoming battle, but she was uninterested in knowing anything about it. She knew she _should_ , she knew that she was a part of this now and she should learn everything she could so she could do her new role justice, but right now the thought of doing anything seemed ludicrous. She didn't care where they sent her, didn’t care who they wanted her to fight, and couldn't muster the strength to help plan. She just wanted to watch the trees dance and forget that she was a person, forget that she would have to get up and move and think and talk and be all of these things she had never asked to be. She wanted to sit here and be still while the world moved on without her, and let the rain wash away all her feelings. Xander seemed to sense her melancholy, and he laid his great head on her lap, whining so that she felt the sound reverberate through her legs. She absentmindedly reached down to pet him, but she kept her eyes on the trees, unfocused and uncaring for what was actually before her. The presence of the mabari _did_ make her think of Indra, however, and she felt the coils of pain in her chest wrap just a little tighter.

“You would have liked her, Xander.” she told the dog. He whined at her, and she lapsed back into silence, scratching behind his ears to quiet him.

She didn’t hear his approach, but suddenly Alistair was beside her, gazing down at her with an expression she couldn’t read. He sat down on the step with her, not saying a word, and Xander got up and sauntered around them in a circle before he settled on sitting down across one foot from each person, his own subtle way of comforting them both.

“At my joining we only lost one person, but it was enough to take the shine right off the Warden armor.” he smiled, though it was a somber little thing that looked like it could be blown away with the bitter wind.

“It's not even that, it's just...” she trailed off, unable to finish. How could she put this kind of thing into words? How could she tell him she was callous enough to dismiss people and naïve enough to regret it once they had gone? She was a horrible, judgmental person, and now she was selfishly unable to tell him that, unable to bear the idea of him thinking of her that way, unable to speak for fear that if he saw her for what she was he would never smile for her again.

“It wasn't your fault.” he said, as though he implicitly understood what she was feeling.

She shook her head, denying his comfort even though she desperately wanted it. “The way I treated them...”

“Was understandable, given how they behaved.” He interrupted. “You did nothing that would warrant a guilty conscience. They lived and died as they saw fit, and you can only be expected to do the same.”

“I don't want to leave a legacy of being unkind. When I think about the fact that I will never get a chance to actually get to know them, to have my opinion of them changed, I just...it all seems so petty, so… _unfair_.”

Alistair’s smile warmed, and she felt it melt the snow in her veins, like the first sun of spring giving the world permission to grow. “No one in their right mind could confuse you for being unkind, Melody.”

She wanted to tell him more, wanted to thank him for saying that, for making her feel like she was still a complete person. She wanted to let him know that he was somebody to her, even after such a short amount of time, but the words seemed lost, unable to pass through her lips, and before she had a chance to find them Duncan had walked up behind them, boots scraping against the stone and shattering whatever moment they had been sharing.

“You need to get some rest. We march in three hours.” He told them. Alistair stood and held out his hand to help her up. She took it, and for a moment she let the warmth of his fingers remind her of all the other people still alive in the world, of all the things that were still good and pure, of all the light that could still shine if she were willing to find it. She looked in his eyes and let it remind her that there were things still worth fighting for, and that there was still a future ahead of her that she had the power to shape.

She let him go, and the three of them walked to their tents to rest for what little time they had, to prepare for the upcoming assault. Duncan explained their assignments and made sure they understood the importance of lighting the beacon. Melody crawled into her bedroll feeling less depressed than she had earlier. The world was dark, the world was broken, the world was often spinning out of her control, but she could handle that. She would meet each turn with determination, with a little bit of light from blonde hair and a crooked smile, and with the support of the warden order at her side. She would live on, the world would live on, and they would all work to find their happily ever after.

 

***

 

“ _Melody!"_  Alistair screamed as he watched her leap onto the Ogre, blood flying everywhere as her blades sank into its corrupted flesh. He was certain she was going to be flung across the room, smashed to bits by the monstrous creature like the blocks of stone it had thrown moments before. He panicked, feeling all the relief over her survival of the joining drain out of him, and he reached out to her even though he was on the other side of the room, impulsively wanting to keep her from the end she would surely meet. He cheered when the force of her blow sent the ogre keeling over backwards as she rode it down, blades driven to the hilts in its chest. It slammed into the ground, shaking the entire tower before she pulled the daggers free and stood up, rolling off of it as she checked the room for more enemies, her chest heaving form the exertion. She stood up straighter when she saw the empty room, the bodies of their foes motionless on the ground as their black blood painted the stonework. They had done it, they had cleared the tower, and now they could accomplish their task.

He jogged over to her as she wiped her face, unsuccessful at clearing it and instead smearing more of the gore around. He had never thought that he would see a woman covered in blood and ichor and think she was _cute_ , but then again he had never thought he would be fighting through a horde of darkspawn to light a beacon in a tower to help stop a blight. He supposed the _cute_ part was just an unexpected benefit. He shook himself, trying to clear the distractions from his mind. “Maker's mercy are you insane?” he sputtered, unsure of what else he could say after that performance.

“Completely.” she told him, a sardonic smile gracing her lips. “Come on, we have to light the beacon.”

They walked together to the mass of logs and kindling, constructed by the soldiers to burn brightly and strongly, for all of the army below to see. She knelt down and lit the pyre, sending the blessed flame flaring into the night, nearly blinding them both with its intensity. For one beautiful moment they stood together at the edge of the tower, looking down at the battle and excitedly awaiting the march of the army that would turn the tide, the victory that the king so desperately dreamed of now within their reach.

That victory never came.

Alistair gasped and felt his stomach lurch when he saw the army, the great forces led by the legendary Ferelden general who had restored the Theirin line to the throne, start to march _away_ from the battle. He grabbed Melody’s arm, pointing towards the site to draw her attention to it, smashing his hand into hers for no other reason than he needed the contact to anchor him to reality, to prove to himself he wasn't having some horrible dream. He glanced back, double checking to ensure the beacon was actually lit, that they had indeed accomplished what they had come to do. The fire crackled merrily, devouring the wood as it glowed in the darkness.

“Where are they going?!” she cried angrily.

Alistair brought his other hand to his head, as though holding it might help him make sense of this catastrophe. “The King! Duncan! We have to get back down there!” he turned and started dragging her with him, although she did not need the urging to follow as they both raced towards the stairs that would take them back down to the base of the tower. They would never make it in time, never be able to do anything meaningful, but they had to try. They had to warn them, warn all those people still down there fending off the vicious horde. They had to _know_ that their aid had just turned around and left them to their fates.

They would never be given the chance, however. Another ogre lumbered up the stairs just as they were crossing the threshold, its stench flowing into the room as a preemptive assault on their senses. The beast caught them completely by surprise, neither of them being prepared to encounter enemies on the path that they had just cleared. It reached out, grabbing Melody in one thick-knuckled hand and lifting her bodily into the air, shaking her as though she were a toy. He felt his shoulder wrench painfully as her hand disconnected from his own, feeling the limb tear out of its socket with the force of the separation. He ignored the pain of his injury as he watched in horror as the ogre threw her across the room, watched her tiny body smash into a pillar and fall to the floor, thudding sickeningly before it ceased to move. He turned his back on the monster and ran towards her, screaming her name because he had no will to do anything else, no thoughts other than her life, nothing more than a prayer that she live, _Please, Maker, let her live_...

Something, probably the ogre, struck him in the back of the head. He felt his skin split, felt his blood rushing down the back of his neck, felt the warm haze that came with a serious head wound spread through his mind. He was sent sprawling by the blow, landing on the ground without the strength to get back up, one arm useless as it hung disconnected from his shoulder, his muscles refusing to respond as he tried to blink away the red blur that filled his gaze. He stretched his hand out towards Melody, trying to reach her, to check on her, to do anything he could manage to save her. Before the darkness of unconsciousness took him, he begged the Maker one last time that she was alive, that she would survive this, and that they hadn’t come this far to lose everything to the solid night.

 

***

 

Vague memories flashed through her mind as she skittered on the edge of consciousness. Darkspawn everywhere, an Ogre trying to smash them to bits, Alistair screaming her name, the beacon shining through the darkness, the army turning and marching in the wrong direction. Then, hazy pieces of pain, of being carried, of warm touches and soft bandages, deep darkness that seemed to swallow her whole, and the only thing that had been reaching her was the ever present feeling of the taint now surging in her veins.

She blinked, opening her eyes, not sure what she would actually see. She was covered in a heavy blanket that scratched at the surface of her bare skin, dressed only in her smalls, and laying on a bed made of soft sheets stuffed with straw. She turned her head to look around and immediately regretted it, gasping at the twinge of pain that shot down her spine as her battered muscles and bones protested the movement.

“Back from your long journey in the fade, I see.” a familiar, lilting voice carried over to her from across the room, and Melody sat up as best she could, regarding her company with curiosity. Morrigan leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest with a contemplative look on her face, though she was smirking all the same.

“Where am I?” Melody asked her, wondering if she would get a real answer or another riddle. With Morrigan she was just as likely to get either.

Morrigan shrugged dismissively. “Back in the Korcari Wilds. Mother, or Flemeth, rather, saved you.”

“What happened?” Melody tried to sift through her vague memories. The only thing she felt like she could remember with any clarity was Alistair's voice, screaming her name at the top of his lungs. The pain in his voice still echoed in her head, and she shuddered in response, trying to will the recollection away.

“You lost the battle. Ostagar was overrun. Mother took pity, _apparently_ , and saved you.”

Melody sat up further in the bed, ignoring the screaming pain that shot through her body. “Alistair, is he...?” she could barely stand to ask the question, terrified that the answer might be that he had been lost as well.

“He is here, and I dare say in far better health than you.” Her yellow eyes darted to the side, avoiding Melody’s gaze before she continued. “Although he is not...taking things well.”

Melody threw off the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, wanting nothing more than to rush to him and commiserate together, to figure out what the in the world it was they were supposed to do now. She planted her feet on the ground and stood, but the wave of dizziness at the sudden movement made her collapse ungracefully to the ground, her knees banging painfully against the uneven wood of the floor. Morrigan was there in a heartbeat, and she wrapped her slender arms around her, holding her up with surprisingly gentle hands.

“Your haste does you a disservice. Your body has not yet recovered from your ordeal. You must have some restraint.” Morrigan chided her. Sufficiently reprimanded, Melody let the witch help her back to the edge of the bed without protest, and she tried not to let her pressing impatience weigh too heavily on her shoulders.

She smiled at the dark apostate. “Thank you, Morrigan.”

Morrigan blinked owlishly at her, apparently surprised by the gratitude. “Tis nothing, thank mother if you have a need to express it.” Her hand waved back and forth dismissively. “I am merely doing her bidding, after all.” Melody could sense it was bluster to avoid accepting the thanks, though her reaction proved it was something she saw little of out in the dank swamps and empty wilds. Melody was filled with a sense of sympathy for the strange girl, knowing life with the mysterious Flemeth must not have been particularly easy. “Come, your clothes are here, you should dress and talk with your companion before he tears down the building looking for you. The fool is more impatient than a child.” Morrigan tossed her a heap of clothes, which Melody accepted wordlessly. She started to dress as slowly as she could, but she still winced and sucked in a hissing breath through her teeth when she tried to extend herself far enough to don her pants. Morrigan placed her hands on her hips and heaved a dramatic sigh before she walked over and pulled the clothes from Melody’s fingers, shaking her head and kneeling to do the work Melody could not.

Melody laughed breathlessly and Morrigan glanced up at her briefly. “You don’t have to, you know. I’m sure I could have managed. Eventually, anyways.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes and tossed her head so that her bangs moved away from her face. “It seems my compassion knows no bounds.” Sarcasm dripped from the statement, but her smile was genuine enough.

“Truly. You should have been a chantry sister.” Melody replied, and she was rewarded with a real peal of laughter from the mage.

“Oh, that would be a task _indeed_.”

When she had finished dressing with Morrigan’s help they worked together to get her standing, her legs shaky but holding her weight now that she was more prepared for the stiffness in her limbs. She was pleased to note that she now wore a new set of armor, free of blood and the remnants of that horrible night, and that it fit incredibly well. She gave Morrigan one final smile of gratitude before she made her way to the rickety door, not sure if she was ready to face the world beyond, but marching resolutely forward regardless.

Outside the sun was filtered through smoke colored gloom, the clouds in the sky painting everything with a washed out glare, too white to be comfortable against her tired eyes. She squinted as she gazed across the small yard before she located Alistair, sitting hunched atop a fallen tree and staring miserably at the ground. She started walking down the short stoop of stairs and the wood creaked in protest. Alistair glanced up and saw her, and the relief on his face was brighter than a flash of starlight. He was up and racing towards her in an instant, and she had barely set her foot of the last step before he was crushing her in a hug. It was tight, fierce, and sadly very brief, but for a moment Melody was engulfed in his arms and felt safer than she had in days.

He let her go and held her at arm’s length, his fingers wrapped around her biceps. “Thank the Maker, I thought for sure you were dead.” he blurted, with no hint of stutter or blush over the overt display of affection.

She smiled at him, unable to stop herself despite the disaster that seemed to follow wherever she went. “Nice to see you too, Alistair.”

The happy moment of reunion didn't last long, or at least not nearly long enough for Melody’s liking. His face fell, and he started explaining what exactly had happened during the battle, his words filled with bitter fury at the betrayals. Loghain, the great hero of Ferelden, beloved general born of the people and revered by them, had turned and fled, abandoning the wardens and the king in what had swiftly become a losing battle. Ostagar hadn’t just fallen, it was completely overrun with darkspawn, and the pair of them had only barely been saved by Flemeth, who had used her powers to change her form and literally pluck them from death’s doorstep, carrying them from the top of the tower back to her home. To his despair Alistair admitted that he didn’t think anyone else had made it out of the battle alive, including poor Xander. Melody almost wished they had never saved the dog in the first place if it meant that Alistair too would now have to suffer through losing a mabari, even if their time together had been limited. The old witch watched them carefully as Alistair told his tale, her lips quirked into a smile despite the terrible picture that he painted. When he was done, Melody turned to her, a thousand questions burning through her mind.

“Why save us?” Melody asked, forgoing gratitude in the face of her biting curiosity.

Flemeth chuckled and looked as though she had expected that response. “There is a saying, dear girl. One you would do well to get acquainted with. I believe I have heard it told that curiosity killed the cat.”

“Yes, and the cat got the canary and the worm ran away with the spoon and a million other nonsensical riddles we could spend ages puzzling over.” Alistair snapped, clearly frustrated as he ran his hand through his hair. Melody looked at him, taken aback by his reaction. “Sorry, I've been listening to her avoid answering questions for days.” he shrugged, his lips forming an apologetic smile that was aimed at her rather than Flemeth.

Melody shook her head and turned her attention back to the crone, who was thankfully ignoring Alistair as he mumbled something about her being an old hag who talked too much under his breath.

Flemeth sighed, seeing that she was not about to drop the matter. “Child, there is not enough time to explain to you the hows and whys of what I do. You will have to content yourself with knowing that I have my reasons. Perhaps it would be easy for you to believe I did it to save the last two wardens in Ferelden, to steel the world against the blight that is even now growing its forces, to save the only people capable of stemming its tide. Perhaps it would ease your mind to think I did it out of the kindness of my heart, merely wishing to help two lost souls in my own small way.” She took a step towards Melody, her eyes looking through her, as though laying everything inside her bare to be examined and discarded as she saw fit. “Or perhaps you will be content with the fact that it doesn't matter, that the only thing you need to know is that you must leave from here and rally this land, and that you have a responsibility that will keep you from pursuing the truth. Perhaps, in the future, you will remember me as the woman that did not waste your time with useless explanations and platitudes, who gave you exactly what you needed when you needed it and allowed you to follow your destiny. Or perhaps you will resent me, in the end, for whatever part you think I've played.” Melody wanted to shrivel under her gaze, to start shouting and screaming at her, to do absolutely anything to make those eyes stop tearing into her. The woman never even blinked, and it made her feel like she was nothing more than a grain of sand passing through the hourglass of the ages, gripped in Flemeth’s hands to be turned as she pleased.

For a long moment she thought to argue, to grab the woman and wring the truth out of her whether she wanted to give it or not, but in the end she knew she was right. There was no time to discover the mysteries of some witch in the middle of the woods, and Melody would have to accept the ambiguity for now. “Fine, keep your secrets. Just tell us what we need to do.” She broke the lock of their eyes by turning her own to the side, her pride bruised from the concession.

Flemeth tossed her head back and laughed. “How gracious of you, dear girl.” Her gaze was not quite as intense, but still rested heavily on Melody's shoulders, a sword strapped to her back that she could not wield, a shield weighing her down that she could not use. “Fate can work in mysterious ways, but I will tell you this. I think you will do well in the tasks that are passed to you. Whatever they may be.”

Alistair groaned bleakly next to her. “Yes, that doesn't sound ominous at all.” Once again she felt a rush of affection for his perpetually irreverent attitude, and Melody made a mental note to find a way to repay him for all the times he unwittingly kept her sane.

Time seemed to shift quickly from that moment on. Flemeth explained her recommendations for using the Warden treaties to garner support against the blight, and Alistair reluctantly agreed it was a good plan, so despite Melody’s deep distrust of the witch, they decided to pursue her preferred course of action. They would spend another day recovering, as Melody was in no shape to travel just yet, but when the sun hit the treetops the next day they would be on the road again.


	6. Fate has Terrible Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melody heals with a little help and Alistair is uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all new content too. :)

“So…have you lived here your whole life?” Melody asked of the witch sitting across the room.

Morrigan’s eyes flicked towards her dismissively before settling back on her book. “Yes.”

“Oh.” Melody tapped the tip of her quill against the edge of the page laid out in front of her. “Um, could you explain again how Flemeth rescued us?”

Morrigan turned a page in her book and pursed her lips for a moment. “You have not forgotten, and I am no storyteller with time to regale you with tales.”

“Right. Sorry.” Melody sighed and turned back to the empty page, catching the disappointed frown on Morrigan’s face just before she began resolutely ignoring her once more.

The steady creak of the house shifting in the subtle wind outside was a distraction. The silent crease in Morrigan’s brow as she read the dusty tome was a distraction. The snapping of the fire in the hearth was a distraction, and Melody found that she could not concentrate on the paper and ink before her enough to get the ideas from her head and onto the page. She had thought to record what had happened, to list as many details as she could recall so that later when she had time to piece the events together into something that made sense she would not lose bits of the story to time. It seemed her mood had other ideas, however, and the blank canvas stared up at her accusingly, knowing her failure and judging her for it. She could not tell if it was lack of focus or active avoidance of any thought of what had happened, but in either case she could cross historian off the list of things she might be good at. Her shoulders felt tense just trying to recall the horrible moments at the top of the tower, or the way her ribs had felt with the ogre’s giant fingers snapping them inward…this was a fool’s errand. She sighed and set the stack of supplies on the table next to the bed, finally giving up on the task altogether.

“If you wish to be dramatic, could you at least do so _quietly_ ,” Morrigan drawled, not looking up from the book. “Some of us are trying to concentrate.”

“Sorry.” Melody mumbled, staring at her hands as her knuckles turned white with the force which she was gripping the blankets.

Morrigan looked up at her then, slamming the book closed with such force that Melody jumped at the sound. “Oh come now, you must have more backbone than that!” she snapped.

Melody’s jaw dropped open. “What? But you just said –”

“I am well aware of what I said! You were but breathing and I chided you. Are you a warden or a mouse?” Morrigan set her book on the table and stood, walking over to the bed to sit next to her, her luminous eyes full of earnest concern. “You cannot allow the world to silence you. You have great things to accomplish, if mother is to be believed, and you must not let others tell you what you can be. Not even others such as I.”

For the first time since the night she turned her back on her dying parents, Melody felt like she broke, like something inside her snapped apart and turned to shards of pain that cut through her calm resolve. “I’m not meant for this!” she cried, her voice shaking with the fervor of her boiling emotions. “Up until a week ago the biggest thing I had to worry about was avoiding the wedding arrangements my mother was pushing in my lap at every turn. I had a mother and a father and a home, I had a future full of endless possibilities!” the tears burned the corners of her eyes and she irritably blinked them away, feeling her face heat with the effort it took not to cry. “How am I supposed to be prepared for this? Duncan is gone, the king is dead, and the darkspawn are marching through the south to come for us all. What am I supposed to do against that? I’m just some silly little noble, I’m not meant to be this!”

The witch smiled sadly, and in some small way that helped, helped to make her feel as though she understood this impossible situation and how terrible it made her feel. “Not all of us get to choose what we are meant for. Sometimes the world hands us our fate, and we can either grasp it to hold on or tumble into the darkness.” Morrigan shook her head and sighed, her shoulders dipping low in shared sorrow. “There is much that has been handed to you that is unfair. Even a ‘wicked chasind barbarian apostate’ such as I can see that.” She rolled her eyes and glared at the door, clearly trying to send ill will towards Alistair, and Melody could only guess at how lovely the conversation between the two had been before she awoke. “But little and less in life is fair, unless you fight to make it so.” She concluded.

Melody fell back into the stiff pillows at her back, sending her hair sprawling out in all different directions. “Why me?”

Morrigan shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. “Perhaps you were merely at the right place at the right time. Perhaps it was always meant to be your purpose. Fate does not often stop to explain its choices.”

Melody laughed through her nose. “Fate has terrible taste.”

“Or perhaps a terrific sense of humor.” Morrigan added, and they both shared a laugh.

“Thanks, Morrigan. I owe you one, when all this is over.” She smiled, feeling the chains wrapped round her heart loosen just a little. She wasn’t alone in this world, and she had to remember it. She had Alistair, and there were people out there like Morrigan, and even Flemeth, who may not be perfect, but could still reach out and help when they wished. Even when everything was falling apart, that was something worth fighting for, something worth remembering.

“Hm. I suspect by that point you shall owe me far more than ‘one’, but the recognition is appreciated all the same.” Morrigan stood, inclining her head in a small bow before she returned to her book. Melody picked up the quill and paper from the side table and started writing, but this time she didn’t try to write about the terrible things that had happened, and she didn’t try to recount just how many darkspawn had swarmed the king’s failing forces. Instead she started writing about the people she had met, and the things that they had meant to her. In the end, that was what would save them all. It didn’t matter what they went through, or where they would go. It would matter who stood with her in the end to face down the darkness, and she would do her best to remember them all for who they were and how they had helped her become whatever it was fate meant her to be.

 

***

 

There was a pile of shredded grass at his feet large enough to make an entire litter of nugs happy for a week, and still Alistair plucked more from the loose soil and tore the soft green blades into pieces. His eyes were set on the darkening horizon, watching the night grow ever gloomier with the boiling clouds of the darkspawn horde looming just south of their location. Soon they would sweep up and overtake this small hut, destroying whatever weird life the witches had made for themselves, and sending them fleeing for their own safety. Then again, maybe they wouldn’t flee. Maybe they could use those sneering demeanors and sharp tongues to insult the horde to death, and then they could all go home and forget this had ever happened.

Of course, not _all_ of them would get to go home. That truth settled heavily around his heart like a great coil of burning pain, wrapping tighter and tighter until he couldn’t breathe. He had known Duncan his entire life, and now he was just _gone_. How could that happen? How could a person just…stop existing? One minute he was there, guiding Alistair and Melody on their newly minted path with the wardens, and then he was dead, crushed into an empty shell along with the king and a thousand good men and women who had thought they were saving their kingdom. Whether the darkspawn destroyed them all or not, Alistair knew _his_ world would always be a little darker now that he had someone missing from it.

He felt selfish and childish for feeling such things, as well. Here he was, moping about some man who he wasn’t even related to when Melody had lost her entire family _and_ her commander. He couldn’t even imagine how bad her pain must be if his own was nearly killing him. He wanted to say something to her, to find some way to comfort her or ease the agony she must be feeling, but every time he looked at her the words blew right out of his head, like leaves scattered on the barren ground. What could he say to her? What sentiment could he possibly offer that would do any good for her situation? He couldn’t even promise that it would all be okay, he couldn’t even take charge and lead them through the coming trials. The only thing he was good for, apparently, was shredding grass like he owned fifty nugs and had a score to settle with plant life.

“Are you intending to uproot my entire lawn, boy?” Flemeth’s voice made him jump, and he dropped the grass guiltily, turning towards the sound to be startled by how close she had come to him without making a sound. She walked around the side of the log he was crouched on and took a seat, her haunting eyes flicking over his face before turning to stare out at the horizon he had been studying.

“Sorry I didn’t know it was…important grass.” He mumbled, adjusting his seat so that he had just a bit more space between himself and the strange old woman.

“Don’t be daft, there’s no such thing as important grass.” She snapped, and then chuckled as though it was some great joke.

Alistair rolled his eyes and slumped over, resting his chin on the heel of his hand. “Right, of course not. My mistake.”

“No, none of the mistakes have been yours, but you wouldn’t understand that even if you knew better.” She muttered.

“What?” he blinked at her stupidly, trying to comprehend the nonsensical rambling.

She straightened and looked to him, ignoring her previous statement entirely. “You know, things aren’t so bad as they seem.” She smiled kindly, which really only served to make him _more_ uncomfortable.

“ _Really?"_  Alistair held up his hand and counted on his fingers as he listed each disaster that had occurred in the last week. “There’s a blight coming, the king of Ferelden is dead, there are exactly two grey wardens in the entire country, the general of the Ferelden army has disappeared to who knows where, and that girl in there has seen basically every person she knew get killed in the span of a few days. Which part of that is good, exactly?”

Flemeth raised a brow at him, shaking her head slowly. “Blonde hair and biting sarcasm. I don’t know why I expected anything less.”

“Good to know I meet _someone's_ expectations at least.” He mumbled, staring at the ground in dejection.

“You are more than you know, Warden Alistair. More than you want to be. The song for your story was written long before you came to be, but I think you might dance better than estimated.” She smiled at him, and he didn’t even bother to roll his eyes. Clearly the woman was senile, her mind withered long past the point of making sense.

“Thanks?” he ventured, not knowing what else to say.

“Don’t thank me, dear boy. I have been but a dancer in this play for too many years to count. The players have turned to dust, but still the music carries on.” She cast her gaze back out to the sky as the stars started to hover in the velvet blue dusk, and Alistair got the strange sense that she was seeing more than she was actually seeing. It was as though when Flemeth gazed at the stars she saw them up close, saw their true forms, their hopes and their dreams cast into the darkness, and took from them what she wished, secrets to hold for her own mysterious purposes.

Shivering from a sudden chill that had worked its way into his bones, Alistair stood from the log, giving Flemeth a stiff nod. “Well, yes, it has been lovely, but I think I’m ready to head to bed. Long day tomorrow. Have a nice night…or something.”

She turned to look up at him and it was like looking into two coin sized moons hovering in the dusky shadows. “Yes, rest up. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of the age, after all.” She smirked at him, and the ice in his veins grew colder.

He spun on his heel and walked back to the cabin without another word, feeling her eyes follow him every step of the way. Whatever was in store for them in the days to come, he couldn’t say he would regret leaving behind this wretched swamp and the two witches that haunted its corners.

 

***

 

Melody shouldered her relatively empty bag and turned to face the witches as they prepared to say their goodbyes. She gave Flemeth a courteous smile, but let it warm completely when it reached Morrigan. As strange as the girl was, it had been nice to have someone to talk to during her recovery, and she had done her best to make Melody feel better, in her own brusque way. Whether it was the way another person would do it or not, it was appreciated all the same.

“Well, it’s been great, really.” Alistair said, with so little conviction it was comical. “Hope you don’t mind if we…uh, live and run, I guess. You understand, important warden business.”

Melody elbowed him in the ribs and he made a soft ‘oomph’ sound in surprise. “He means thank you.” She said, and shared a small glance with Morrigan, who was smirking at the pair of them.

“Sure, thanks, whatever. Shall we?” Alistair gestured with his arm as though asking her to lead the way, and she shot him a disparaging look.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright out here? The darkspawn will be here soon. Do you want us to escort you to the next town or something?” Melody offered.

Flemeth tossed back her head and laughed. “Escort! Oh, what a lovely child to help the old woman across the road.”

Melody held up her hands in horror. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean –”

“Ignore her. Her senility is worse in the mornings.” Morrigan chimed in, her eyes dancing with mischief as Flemeth turned to glare at her.

Melody bowed her head, trying not to laugh. “Alright, if you’re sure. Stay safe, and thank you again for everything.”

Flemeth chuckled under her breath. “You’ll pay me back tenfold, no need to thank me. Just keep this one out of trouble for me.” Without warning she placed her hand on Morrigan’s back and shoved her forward, sending her careening into Alistair with so much force the both of them were almost sent sprawling into the ground.

“Pardon?” Morrigan hissed when she had righted herself, tossing a glare at Alistair as though it were somehow all his doing.

“I think it’s high time you get out and see the world. Maybe if you get knocked on your ass a few times for a worthy cause some of that insolence will fall right out of your head.” Flemeth laughed again, a long cackle that echoed in the silent swamp.

“You can’t be serious.” Morrigan’s hand curled into a tight little ball, her fist trembling as she spoke.

“Have you known me to joke often, oh daughter of mine?” Flemeth raised a brow as she regarded Morrigan, and for a moment the silence was deafening as they glared at one another.

“No. No, no, no, nope, and also _no_.” Alistair jumped in vehemently, shaking his head to emphasize his very well made point. “We are not traveling around with the world’s angriest apostate.”

Morrigan rounded on him, her anger redirected so quickly Alistair took a half step back in reaction. “And I would choose to travel with the world’s dullest thug?”

“I’m not a thug! I was going to be a Templar, you know.” He crossed his arms and frowned at her.

“Oh, a righteous thug then. My mistake.” She crossed her own arms, and the air snapped with the tension between the two.

Melody placed her hand on Alistair’s chest, giving him a pleading look that begged him to back down. “Morrigan,” she turned to the girl, smiling again as she caught that yellow gaze, “We would be glad to have your assistance on this journey.” She heard Alistair’s sharp intake of breath and turned to him before he could speak, cutting him off just as he opened his mouth. “Alistair, we could use the skills of a powerful mage.” He snapped his mouth shut and pouted, but she could tell she would get no further argument out of him. Sighing with relief, she turned back to Flemeth. “I promise we’ll keep her safe.”

Flemeth chuckled again, her smile sharp like a poison tipped arrow. “Lofty promises. Be careful what you vow, girl. I may just hold you to them.”

Alistair sighed dramatically. “Can we go now?”

Melody turned and gave him a small smile, shaking her head but unable to truly be mad at him. “Yes, we can go.”

Morrigan swept by them both, holding her nose in the air as though she found the entire ordeal distasteful. “You’re lucky she’s in charge, dog boy, else you surely would have been lost without me.”

“No, _you're_ lucky she’s in charge!” he retorted, chasing after her with purpose. “Or else we would have left you to rot in the swamp with your _lovely_ mother.”

“The only reason I’m even coming is because she would end up dead, in a ditch, on fire somehow if the only one looking out for her was _you_.” Morrigan snapped, laughing when he turned red in response.  
Melody couldn’t quite hear Alistair’s reply, but she did see his hands fly into the air, nearly knocking the staff from the witch’s back. She watched them walk off for a moment, her jaw hanging open and her head tilted to the side.

“ _I'm_  in charge? Why am I in charge?” she murmured, not really intending to speak the question out loud, but in her confusion the words made their escape of their own accord.

“Maybe it’s the hair.” Flemeth replied wryly, then she burst into another fit of laughter.

Melody rolled her eyes and followed after her traveling companions, thinking that at least this was probably the strangest their journey would likely be, as she certainly couldn’t imagine it getting weirder than this.


	7. Are you Alright?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melody and Alistair find comfort in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too many edits on this one, and I'm sorry it's so darn short! :p

Melody watched as he sat at the edge of the camp, folded in on himself in sorrow. His knees were brought up to his chest, his chin resting on the soft leather of his pants, and his arms were wrapped around his shins. It made her ache to see him looking so defeated. She knew he was keening over the loss of Duncan as strongly as she had been over her family, and she wished there were words of comfort she could offer. Alistair had already mentioned how close he had felt to the old recruiter; a bond she had shared with her father before he had been torn from this world. It hurt to see the same torturous turmoil in his eyes that she felt in herself, but she knew there was nothing that could really be done for him. If there were words to make this pain better she didn’t know them, or she would have chanted them to herself by now. All she had to offer him was more darkness, more disappointment, more hesitation and confusion…yet she could not sit idly by and watch him like this any longer.

Getting up from the warmth of the fire, she strode over to him, settling in beside him and mirroring his position, bringing her own knees up. He glanced at her, a brief and weak smile on his lips before he returned his gaze to the nothingness she knew he was looking at. She knew that he wasn't actually seeing any of the wilds in front of them. She was intimately familiar with that stare, the one that looked out across miles of Thedas seeing nothing at all. She had that look in her eyes the entire ride to Ostagar, had that look in her eyes as she stared into the fire trying to force herself to sleep in Flemeth’s hut. It pained her to see it on him. She felt like he was too young, too good to have that kind of heaviness in himself. She knew it was silly to think of him as such, as she knew they were both close in age. She was, in fact, younger than him by a couple of years, but she had suffered tragedy first, so she felt as though it added time to her heart beyond the years she had spent in this world.

She sat with him in comfortable silence for a time. The wind brushed across the branches of the trees, the sky above drank in the light from the fire and sent back the flickering sparks from the stars. It was peaceful here, for the moment. It would have been easy to lay down and believe nothing bad had happened at all, that they were merely out camping to while away their youth. The sorrow in his eyes kept the lie from feeling real, however, and no matter how she might wish to fool herself, she couldn’t enjoy the deceit with him so miserable right beside her.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly.

“Yes...no.” he avoided looking at her, his eyes roaming over the ground and the tree line, never quite settling in any one direction for too long. “This whole thing is a mess.”

She didn't say anything because she didn't need to. Her silence was enough to let him know that she agreed completely. Acting on impulse, an instinct she couldn't quite identify, she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. He tensed for a moment, just briefly, but in that moment she felt terrified that she had overstepped her bounds, had acted wrong, had read some mood in the stars that wasn’t reflected in the person she sat with. When she felt the weight of his head settle on top of her own she sighed aloud, relieved as he leaned on her and his breath whispered through her hair. The tension eased from them both as they exhaled together, and she thought she might have found something that made things seem better. It wasn’t words, it wasn’t magic, but the simple comfort of someone who understood. She had needed it more than she realized, and she felt overwhelmed at the sudden maelstrom of emotions it stirred within her.

It was the safest she had felt since the attack on her family. It was warm and comfortable and more wonderful than anything had any right to be. A hot tear escaped her eyes before she even knew she was about to cry, falling down her cheek to land heavily on his shoulder. She watched it soak into the soft cotton of his tunic with fascination before she realized more were coming, and suddenly she was crying, all of the tears that she had refused to shed for weeks tumbling out of her in rivers of shimmering pain. A sob started to work its way out of her chest, and despite her best efforts to keep it calm and quiet a noise escaped her, a shudder of too much repressed despair passing through her lips and escaping into the firelight.

Impossibly strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her close, their legs unfurling as he cradled her to his chest. He smelled like warm fires and home, like some long forgotten scent that brought fond memories and sweet dreams to mind. She grabbed at his shirt, burying her face into it, letting all her tears and pain pour out against him, feeling the sharp loss of her mother, her father, the recruits, the army, the king, and Duncan. Alistair brought up his hand and started stroking the back of her head, pulling her hair loose from its ponytail and running his fingers through it gently. It was wonderful to fall apart into him, to let all those sharp little knives of grief fall away, freeing in a way she had never expected.

It was a long time before the tears stopped coming, before her breath evened out and the world stopped spinning around her. He had held her wordlessly the entire time, gentle caresses down her back to soothe her as she trembled, overwrought. She felt a pang of guilt pass through her at her selfishness. She had come out here to comfort him, not dissolve into her own hysterics. Slowly, more reluctant to break the moment than she had ever been in her life, she pulled back so she could look up into his face. His eyes glittered at her in the dark and she swore she could actually feel the warmth from his smile lighting a fire inside her. She sighed, a little noise that had not actually sought permission before it was passing through her lips, and it was difficult to truly hold on to all her guilt when he was looking at her that way.

“I'm sorry, I came out here to make you feel better, not fall apart like some silly little girl.” her voice was raw with too much emotion. He smiled at her again, and she thought she might actually die here in his arms with how good that made her feel.

“You're not a silly little girl, and you _did_ make me feel better.” his voice was full of contentment, and she wondered how on earth her disaster of a breakdown could have made him feel better, but for now she wouldn't question it. She turned her head away, so she could break away from those eyes that might actually be stealing her soul bit by bit, taking pieces of her and hiding them away in him. She wasn't sure if that terrified her or thrilled her.

 

***

 

Alistair held her close, and for the first time he didn't feel like he was doing something awkward. He felt horrible about how happy this was making him, but he couldn’t bring himself to dwell on it too much. He had been so focused on everything that had gone wrong since he had woken up covered in bandages in a strange room, and in this moment he just didn't have the capacity to care anymore. Holding her was the most perfect thing he could imagine, and there wasn't a damn thing that would keep him from savoring the moment while it lasted.

Even after her tears had been spent she had held onto him, seeking him out for what comfort his arms could provide. When he realized that she wasn’t intending on moving even after she had emptied herself of her tears his stomach felt like it was endlessly tumbling off a cliff, spinning in freefall with no ground in sight. It was not a moment of desperation as he had thought it was, or at least not as short lived as he had expected. When she had started crying he had pulled her close out of instinct, surprised when she had actually succumbed to the embrace. She was the strongest woman he had ever met in his entire life, and suddenly she was vulnerable and _his_ , even if only for the moment. He couldn't help the swell of pride that filled him, couldn't help running his fingers through her hair, couldn't help the tug at his heart when those impossibly green eyes met his.

Alistair was perfectly aware that this was the wrong time to become smitten with someone, especially the only other warden standing between his country and disaster. The majority of the people they had both known throughout their lives were dead. There were probably a thousand other terrible things happening in the world that would mean this...whatever it was, would be a very, very bad idea. He tried very hard to care about that, about how this should be the last thing on his mind, but it wasn’t working in the least. As she sighed against his chest, he couldn’t bring himself to be anything but overjoyed about it.

It was probably only a passing moment, anyhow. She would break away eventually, they would go back to the fire, sleep, and the spell of the night would disappear. Morrigan would continue being an utter bitch, and Melody would never be in his arms again. He was ashamed to admit that this thought made him sadder than almost anything else that had happened so far.

When they did finally break apart and move to head to their separate beds, to finally try and get some sleep, it left him with an empty feeling he had no real words to describe. He knew then, without a doubt, that he was in trouble, that this woman had practically cast a spell over him, and he wasn't sure if he should be trying to break it or give in to its pull.


	8. Garbagetown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the mabari return and Lothering is not anyone's favorite place.

The barking, loud and insistent, broke Melody out of her uneasy sleep, the nightmares of the rotting dragon commanding her seething hordes evaporating as she lurched up from her bedroll, trying to determine the source of the sound. She heard a feminine shout, followed quickly by the low rumble that she recognized as Alistair's voice saying something that was probably sarcastic in response. Over it all the barking continued, growing more clamorous by the second.

Melody gathered up her clothes and dressed quickly before she raced out of her tent, preparing herself for an emergency. When she finally opened the flap and was able to see the scene, she nearly lost her mind with laughter.

The tableau laid out before her was so ridiculous that she could hardly believe it. Morrigan was perched atop a rock, staff held at the ready, aiming it down towards a mabari who was racing around in circles, barking like mad and kicking up clouds of dust with the frantic footfalls of each paw. Alistair was preoccupied dealing with another mabari, who had pounced on him and was slathering him with wet affection, while simultaneously trying to calm Morrigan down to keep her from setting both the dogs on fire.

The dog circling the rock was a blur of slate grey, its markings nearly unrecognizable as it sped past her repeatedly. Still, she would have known that beast anywhere, and Melody gasped loudly when she realized the dog terrorizing her friend was the very same one she had thought to never see again.

“ _Indra?!”_ she cried. The dog stopped in its tracks, ears perking up at her voice, and before she knew it the dog was bounding towards her, tackling her to the ground and smothering her with lovable canine kisses.

“It has a name?!” Morrigan’s indignation made her voice tremble as she spoke. Melody didn't have the ability to answer her, though, as she was too busy laughing, hugging her dog close and marveling at the small miracle that she was alive. They rolled in the dirt together, coating themselves in mud and bits of smashed grass, but she didn’t care. She didn’t mind the kernels of rock pressed into her scalp or the tangles forming in her dislodged hair. The only thing that mattered was that Indra was _alive_ , a piece of her past brought back to her, a broken shard of her heart healed and restored.

Eventually she ran out of breath and had to stop laughing, and she sat up to survey the fate of the other dog and her friends. Morrigan had gotten down off the rock and was watching both her and Alistair with disdain. Alistair was seated with Xander sprawled across his lap, an equally overjoyed look on his face.

“Morrigan, please allow me to introduce you to Xander.” Alistair chirped, apparently very pleased at her discomfiture over the dog's presence.

“Oh, now we have dogs in the party. How remarkable that Alistair is still the stupidest one here. Wonders never cease.” she ground out, marching angrily back to her tent, which looked as though it had been invaded by two over excited hounds recently.

Alistair was scowling as he watched Morrigan walk away, and Melody got up and walked over to him, holding out her hand to help him up. When she grinned at him his sour mood evaporated, a smile of his own shining through the irritation Morrigan had inflicted.

“I can't believe she made it!” Melody told him, pride and happiness welling up in her chest.

“Indra, I presume?” Alistair said, talking down to the dog at her feet. The dark grey mabari wagged her tail and barked happily in response, while Xander ran around them in circles again, sniffing at their legs, their feet, at Indra, at anything that came within radius of his nose. The two dogs appeared to be getting along well together, and when they settled down they sat next to each other, butting their heads together with instant affection.

Alistair placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “Your dog has bewitched my dog.”

“ _My_ dog? Your dog is clearly the heart breaker here.” she snickered as they watched the two dogs in their grossly adorable display. “Didn't you say something once about the blight bringing people together?”

He laughed, a rich ripple of sound that was unencumbered by the reality they had been facing lately. “I haven't even had my dog that long and he is already smoother with the ladies than I am.” Alistair shook his head, still chuckling to himself.

“Oh, I don't know about that. You seem to do just fine in that department from what I've seen.” she said. She didn't realize until after she had said it what it had sounded like, what she was admitting, but once it was out she found that she didn't care. This moment was warm and happy, and she didn't mind sharing with him that she cared for him. It was such a small way to say it, and she couldn't bring herself to fret over how he might take it.

She was thrilled when he blushed and blinked at her, a myriad of emotions ranging from shock to pleasure passing over his face. She met his eyes and could feel her own blush creeping across her cheeks.

“I uh...well, I'm just going to go back to bed now before I burst into flames.” he muttered, turning around and all but running away from her. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. The man had no idea how utterly adorable he was. He was stealing her heart away a little more every day, and his obliviousness just made it all the more charming. Maybe one of these days, if there was time, she would have to show him how much he meant to her.

 

***

 

If Melody woke up one day and suddenly found herself Queen of the world, she would make her first decree to rename Lothering to Garbagetown, the Ferelden Capital of Garbage, because that name would have been far more accurate - and serve as an appropriate warning. The air that filled their lungs as they walked the unkempt streets smelled of mold and refuse, sticking to the back of Melody’s throat and making her feel as though she could _taste_ the misery that surrounded them. The buildings were barely held together, the wood half rotted with moisture and disrepair, and it was obvious the town had never been bustling by any definition of the word, having been born as old and pathetic, forever sinking into the mire like it wished to drown itself in the nearby swamp.

Even the outskirts seemed determined to be utter garbage. Before they even saw the little village they were accosted by bandits, demanding that they pay some ridiculous toll to cross a bridge – the only bridge – into town. Melody hadn't even felt sorry when Morrigan had set them all on fire after they drew their weapons. She was tired, afraid, and at the end of her emotional abilities, and scum preying off people who were fleeing for their lives didn't actually deserve her sympathy, anyways. They had their chance to let them by, and had been given ample warning to stand down. It was as Morrigan had said, there was no point in suffering fools when they had bigger tasks at hand.

When they had made it into the town they were welcomed with displaced refugees, who seemed angry at their very presence, and hostile locals, who resented everyone and everything passing through their quiet little hamlet. Granted, most of them were starving, and so they saw the wandering wardens as nothing more than another group of competing mouths, but the unwillingness to listen to them even attempt to explain themselves irked Melody fiercely. Ignorance was one thing, but _willful_ ignorance was nearly unforgivable, as far as she was concerned. Even the Templars in the town seemed uncaring and surly, most of them just as disinterested as the rest of the rabble in helping anyone but themselves.

It was further unsettling to discover that Loghain had spread the rumor that it was the Wardens who were responsible for the king's death, calling on the citizens to kill or capture any they came across who were still alive after Ostagar. She thought for a moment that Alistair might go into angry, apoplectic shock when he heard the news, and they had to spend several moments in an alley calming him down while he insisted they march on Denerim immediately to kill the lying bastard. She couldn’t blame him, as their rage over Loghain's betrayal was still fresh and raw, so to discover that they had been blamed for the general’s crimes was almost too much bitter irony to bear.

They were heading to the tavern, trying to find a reliable source of information so that they could get their bearings and decide where exactly they should travel first in their quest for allies, when Melody's attention was drawn to a cage just to the side of the bridge. She spun on her heel, grinding the dirt under the soles of her boots, and approached it without a word to the others, cutting Morrigan off mid-sentence as she complained about the way the village smelled.

Inside the heavy steel bars of the makeshift prison stood a massive man with grey skin and white, braided hair like spun spider web. She could tell he wasn't human, but she hesitated to declare what else he might be with her limited world experience. He was certainly not elven, and his height made it impossible for him to be dwarven. She wanted to say he was Qunari, but he lacked any horns. She had never seen a Qunari in the flesh, but she had always been told that the massive, draconic horns sweeping out of their skulls were their most definitive feature.

The man regarded her with a surly expression, his eyes flashing with barely concealed annoyance. He looked down at her as she tilted her head to examine him, and the set of his jaw told her that this was a man that wished she would turn around and move as far away from him as was physically possible, preferably quickly. The dour prisoner very clearly wished to be left alone to whatever fate the rusted cage had condemned him to. Which, of course, she had no intention of doing.

“Why are you caged?” she shifted her feet, canting her hips from one side to the other as she studied him.

“I am a prisoner.” he replied, his voice filled with as much emotion as slightly stale bread.

She repressed the urge to smirk and kept her gaze even against his own. “What for?”

“Crimes.” He pursed his lips into a thin line and his glare intensified. He was not one to answer questions easily, and Melody immediately felt as though getting information out of him was a challenge, one she was presently determined to overcome.

“Okay.” She squared her stance and threw her shoulders back, wishing she were tall enough to actually meet the level of his eyes. “Let's try a different tactic. Who sentenced you?”

His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but she caught the wariness in his voice all the same. “The Revered Mother.”

“Oh good, an answer.” she clapped her hands together excitedly. “And does she plan on releasing you?”

For a moment she thought he might not answer, but finally he drew in a deep, slow breath. “No.” he enunciated the single syllable with clipped efficiency. “If you are done with your questions, I would ask that you leave. I am not interested in being your amusement any longer.” He started to turn away, obviously done with the matter, but unfortunately for him Melody was not quite content with that pittance of information.

“I never said I was amused.” she quipped, allowing herself the smallest of smiles. Alistair made a noise behind her that was dangerously close to a laugh, which he quickly turned into a cough, although their moody new friend seemed to catch it regardless, and his frown grew even deeper. “What's your name?” she asked, drawing his gaze back to her.

“I am Sten.”

“Well, Sten, let me ask you something.” She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “Would you follow us and fight the blight if I got you released?”

“What?!” Morrigan grabbed Melody’s shoulder and nearly spun her all the way around. “Surely you cannot be serious. This man could have committed any number of heinous crimes.” Morrigan’s glare shot towards Sten, sizing him up with a single flick of her yellow eyes.

Alistair cleared his throat and gave her an apologetic smile. “I’ll admit it seems cruel to leave him locked up for the darkspawn, but do you really think bringing him with us is the best idea?”

Melody didn't answer them as she locked eyes with Sten, holding his gaze without blinking as they remained bound in a standoff, a struggle of wills pulling back and forth through the tension in the air. Finally, something in the tension released, and she saw the newborn flicker of curiosity enter into his eyes. “I would rather die fighting than not.” he replied evenly, and Melody took that for as much of a yes as she was going to get. She turned around and marched past the bridge to get into the chantry, Alistair and Morrigan scrambling to catch up.

“You really think this is a good idea?” Alistair asked her, his long strides easily keeping pace with her own.

“I have a hunch, at least.” She sighed at the skeptical expression on his face. “I'm not about to leave him here to rot, and we need more help if we’re going to travel all over Ferelden trying to get allies for our cause.” she shrugged a bit, hoping that would be explanation enough.

The chantry was in an uproar over the incoming destruction, the few sensible Templars in the town running to and fro trying to prepare the poor civilians for evacuation. The Revered Mother was stretched thin as it was trying to deal with the refugees, the locals, and the looming chaos, and so it didn’t take much on their part to convince her to entrust the Qunari to their care. She seemed to be only too willing to hand the problem over to someone else and therefore absolve her own conscience. The crime he was accused of was indeed something of concern, but somehow Melody couldn’t equate the man she had spoken with outside with a man capable of slaughtering an entire family. As they walked outside she considered her options in dealing with this matter.

She could leave him to his fate, let the darkspawn swallow him and his story, and wash her hands of the matter entirely. She could free him and order him to run, to give him a fighting chance even if she wanted nothing to do with him. Or, and this was the idea she was beginning to take a shine to with every new step, she could free him and demand that he seek redemption. He could fight for their cause and help save the country, and while that could never wash the blood from his hands, it could certainly do enough good to justify her mercy. As the gravel beneath her feet crunched in cadence with her steps, she thought of the warden recruits whose lives had been left in the ruins of a ruin, and she resolved herself to provide redemption to as many people as she could on this journey. Everyone deserved a second chance, and Melody would never again judge someone without giving them an opportunity to prove themselves first.

When they reached the cage again she lifted her hand, showing him the key as she stood in front of the bars. “Your crime was quite violent.”

For the first time she saw him hesitate, and his gaze shifted away from her for a moment as he looked at the ground. “It was not honorable.” The words were heavy as they left his lips, and she felt them fall through the air like rough stone tumbling down a hill.

She raised her eyebrows, though she was far from surprised. “You regret your actions?”

His eyes remained locked on the floor. “Yes.”

“Do you want a chance at redemption?”

Now he looked at her, honest surprise showing on his face. He regarded her for a moment before the frown was once again restored to his lips. “It does not matter.” he said, but before she could come up with another question he continued, “I will follow you and fight, if it is what you wish.”

Melody nodded and slipped the iron key into the rusted lock, releasing the latch so the door could swing open and allow him to exit. She resolutely ignored the death stare she was getting from Morrigan.

“Then you are free. Follow me or not, it is your decision.” she stepped back, allowing him to take his first steps into his future at his own pace.

“Who are you?” he asked, looking at her with more confusion than he had since they had met.

“Melody, of the Grey Wardens.” she dipped her head in a polite bow and her hair cascaded forward over her shoulder. “We fight the blight.” She held up her hand, jabbing a finger in his face to ensure he was listening intently to her next words. “It will be no easy journey, but do not follow me if you think to kill yourself needlessly in battle.” she warned. “I will not allow the senseless waste of life in my ranks.” It felt strange, to speak of her friends like that, as though she were some general at the head of a bustling army, but she sensed this man would respond better to command than he would to compassion. If that was what it took to gain another ally and give him a second chance then she could steel herself and play the part.

“You have my word, and my allegiance, Melody of the Grey Wardens.” He returned her bow somewhat stiffly, but the sentiment was appreciated nonetheless.

“The world will never make sense again traveling with you, will it?” Alistair quipped, his grin tempered by his nerves as he looked anxiously at their newest party member.

She couldn’t help but smile as wide as her lips would go. “Likely not, good sir.”

He chuckled breathlessly as they resumed their trek to the tavern, and Melody felt slightly emboldened by the success of the recruitment effort. Perhaps things were not so lost as she had feared, and perhaps they would accomplish what they had set out to do after all.

 

***

 

_Andraste's frosted snickerdoodles_ , Melody thought, _even the tavern is garbage_.

The blood of the men was still spreading across the floor as she turned towards their defender. They had not been in the establishment for more than two minutes before a group of malcontent thugs had realized they were Wardens, and went about the task of trying to bring them in for the reward Loghain had offered. Melody had not been pleased with the idea of killing a group of civilians in the middle of the tavern, and so she had tried to take a moment to reason with them. The conversation had been going poorly before an auburn haired chantry sister had stepped in to help defend them, and after that it had gone even worse. The men, it seemed, took issue with a chantry sister telling them what to do, which in turn offended just about everyone else present. Morrigan was a mere breath away from turning them to unpleasant cinders before the sister, surprising them all, had stepped in to take matters into her own hands.

Melody had never seen a sister of the chantry draw daggers and decapitate a man, but she was thrilled she could add it to the list of things she was proud to be a part of. Leliana had returned to a demure, pleasant person almost immediately after the battle, and Melody had known instantly she had found the newest member to their little team. She was only mildly deterred by the fact that Leliana insisted she should accompany them because the Maker had told her to in a dream, but it was not a strong enough downside to the fact that she had _decapitated a man in a tavern_.

“Do you ever actually say no to people? Have you learned the word? Do you have some speech impediment that prevents you from denying the insane access to your friendship?” Morrigan hissed as they walked out of the thoroughly destroyed bar, the bartender casting a glance at them that could have killed, were it a physical object.

Melody turned to the witch and gave her the same face she had always used to melt her father’s resolve when he had sought to keep her from something she wanted. “Morrigan, she cut off that guy’s head.”

“She thinks she has visions from the Maker!” Morrigan retorted, impervious to the pleading look of her compatriot.

“His. Head.” Melody repeated meaningfully. “ _Off_.”

Morrigan finally rolled her eyes and relented, feigning irritation, although Melody caught the small smile playing across her heart shaped lips.

As they made their way back to camp, Melody fell into step next to the new rogue, striking up a conversation about her training with daggers and asking for tips. The animated way the woman talked was immediately endearing, and Melody knew that despite the doubts of the rest of the party, she would not regret her decision.

 

***

 

Alistair wasn't sure if he should be oddly proud at Melody's ability to win people over to their cause, or deeply disturbed at the people she thought worthy of the effort. In their short time in Lothering, a place in which he hadn't expected to find any help at all, she had managed to pick up a Qunari warrior, a chantry sister capable of wholesale destruction, and a dwarven merchant and his peculiar son, who had promised to follow them in their travels and provide goods and enchantments.

If someone had told Alistair a month ago that he would be following around _this_ group, led by a woman he was rapidly becoming enamored with, while a blight nipped at their heels and the world crumbled in its wake, he would have sent them to a healer, worried for their health. Even living through all the details that led up to this current state of affairs didn't cause them to make much more sense, and he was sure, should he relate the tale to someone else, they would call him daft and send him on his way.

He couldn't begrudge her the achievement, however. She seemed pleased with herself for finding people to help, happy with her choices, and while he didn't understand them, he did trust her to make the right decisions. He wasn't sure when that had happened, when he had decided she was the one who would lead them through this, but he was infinitely relieved to be able to defer to her. She was clearly capable...or at least she certainly _seemed_ to be. He supposed it was probably too early to tell for sure. After all, the murderous Qunari could still opt to kill them all in their sleep, Leliana could turn out to be truly insane, and who was to say Morrigan wasn't going to turn them all into toads for her own amusement. Somehow, however, he doubted any of that would come to pass. Something, maybe his growing infatuation, maybe his own naiveté, but something told him she was the right person to follow.

It was a blessing beyond measure that they were finally leaving Lothering. Alistair wouldn’t mind if he never had to step foot in the gloomy town again. After hearing some disconcerting rumors from some of the Templars, Melody had decided the best place for them to go would be the Circle Tower of Ferelden. Alistair was not exactly thrilled to be headed into what was essentially a den of mages, but she had a point that it was worth investigating, and an alliance with the Ferelden circle _was_ on their to-do list. She didn't seem to be a fan of the Templars any more than he was, especially after the poor specimens of the order they had met in Lothering, and he was grateful that she didn’t seem to hold his unfinished training against him as much as Morrigan seemed to. She knew he had trained to be a Templar, but she also knew he hadn't been very fond of it, gladly joining the Wardens when the opportunity had presented itself. It was a life he had never wanted for himself, and there was certainly no love lost between himself and the Revered Mother at his chantry when he had abruptly been taken away.

Yet still, even though he had gleefully tossed away the mantle of “future templar”, Alistair could not quite shake a distrust of magic. He had nearly finished his training, and he knew enough of what could go wrong with mages to make even the stoutest of heart think twice. He had thought to bring this up to Melody, but she had waved off his concern. Perhaps it wasn’t bravery the Templars needed to face the mages without flinching. Perhaps they needed an ounce of whatever it was that drove Melody forward with unfaltering steps. Was it curiosity? Was this merely a drive to know what was going on because the rumor of a doomed tower was a tantalizing opportunity for adventure? The look on her face when she had heard the news told a different story, however. The concern in her eyes had been obvious, and Alistair was sure it was compassion that fueled the fire in her eyes. She wasn’t going to the tower for allies, although that was the excuse she used to explain away any objections. She was going because there was someone that might need her help, and Alistair was amazed that her reason was so pure.

It would be an honor to follow her, he thought. Even if it meant stumbling through a tower filled with some manner of magical mishap that got them all killed. At least he would go alongside friends, and that was more than most people got to say in this unforgiving world.


	9. Not a Sound Strategy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we reach the Circle Tower.

They reached the circle quicker than Alistair would have anticipated. Sten, proving his worth in the most unexpected way possible, had been able to successfully bribe the ferry boat operator to take them across to the tower by handing him a plate of cookies. Alistair had no idea where he got the cookies, and honestly he didn't want to know. It made a better story if it was left a mystery, the tale simply being that the stoic warrior had produced the home baked goods from thin air, with not a second thought from those that bore witness, as though this sort of thing happened every day. Alistair had a sneaking suspicion things like this _would_ be a regular occurrence for them, but it gave him heart rather than anxiety. It was hard to feel the full weight of their responsibilities as they laughed their way across the lake, the boat filled with jokes and kinship as they discussed Sten’s apparent fondness for sweets.

It was unfortunate that the mood could not last once they entered the tower.

The templars that were inside – what few remained – looked completely dejected. Melody went to work questioning them immediately, trying to uncover what had happened. She was eventually directed to the Knight Commander, Ser Gregoir. The poor man was angry, afraid, and worse than that he was unsure of what to do. The tower had been overrun with abominations and he wasn't sure if anyone was still left alive, so he had sent word for permission to enact the right of annulment in a fit of desperation.

“What's the right of annulment?” Melody asked him, her voice sharp with worry and fear.

“It's a death sentence for every mage in the tower.” Alistair explained before Gregoir could manage, his jaw tense with concern. He had never seen the right performed, and to be completely honest he never wanted to. He had always thought it was an unfair practice, to resort to the complete slaughter of an entire tower of mages because of the actions of a few. True, it was only supposed to be invoked in the direst of circumstances, but even then he could never justify killing every soul in the building. What emergency could possibly be so urgent that you couldn't stop to rescue the innocent?

“Absolutely not.” Melody told Gregoir, her voice carrying all the authority she didn’t actually have in this situation. Alistair felt a swell of pride at her impertinence, even if he flinched at the shock on Gregoir’s face.

“There is nothing more we can do. The tower is lost, and if we do not act we could lose much more. We can't get in to save anyone. I don’t see any other option.” the old man sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than he was her, and it didn’t appear to be working in either case.

“What if we clear out the tower?” she asked, hands on her hips and determination in the set of her jaw.

“This is hardly worth our time...” Morrigan began, but she fell silent after a steely look from Melody. This was obviously not an idea that was up for debate.

“I won't stop you from trying, Maker knows I should, but if you are in there when the reinforcements arrive, know that I can't spare you.” the Knight Commander looked both worried and relieved. Here was yet another person who was willing to pass the burden of responsibility onto the shoulders of this tiny warden. Alistair started to wonder how she got people to do that, but the question was slightly absurd considering the fact that he would have gladly followed her off the ends of the map if she had asked him with a smile and a laugh.

Melody didn’t seem fazed by the templar’s warning. “And if we clear the tower before then?”

“I will believe the tower is secure only if you can bring back the first enchanter. I trust his judgment, and on his word I will believe the threat has been neutralized.”

“Fine.” She snapped, angry at the man's lack of commitment to saving his charges. Spinning on her heels, she marched towards the door, but before she went in she turned to all of them. “Okay, Sten, I want you to stay down here and make sure the Templars don't do anything...stupid.” she paused briefly as she grimaced. “Stupider.” She amended. “Don't let them march up and kill us before we can save these poor souls.” Sten nodded, and if he was disappointed that he wasn't going up with them, he certainly didn't let it show. “The rest of you are coming with me. Our goal is to save every life possible. Morrigan, I will defer to your expertise on any demons we encounter. Leliana, I want you prepared to take any injured we might find to safety, and Alistair, be ready to attack because I don't have any designs on bargaining with these foul things.” The trio nodded somberly at her, and with that they approached the doors. The Templars standing guard unlocked the heavy chains around the handles and pulled them open, and they walked inside to the ominous creaking of the ancient hinges before the doors were slammed shut behind them once more. The sound echoed in the gloomy hallway, and they began making their way through the eerily empty rooms as the silence chased their heels.

 

***

 

The demons were more formidable than she had anticipated, though not quite so that they posed an actual threat to the combined might of their team. Morrigan found that it was easy to work in tandem with her strange new companions, despite her lack of experience in fighting alongside others. She had always worried first and foremost for her own skin, and gave little regard for the incidental lives that might be lost, most often from their own stupidity. Yet now here she was, through the strange machinations of her mother, worrying over the health and safety of a zealot, a fool, and their unknowing leader.

Then there was their newest tag along, the enchanter Wynne. She was older than she looked, and fought as though none of those years hung over her head. She was also insufferably kind, which agitated Morrigan to no end. Melody did not need more soft hearted admirers, traipsing after her and encouraging her to save every sap with a tragic tale that they came across. Melody needed to be strong, she needed to be tempered like steel so that she would not break against the rough edges of their trials. It was folly to feed her overwhelming sense of compassion, and yet that seemed to be the thing all of them were drawn to, and so all of them would thus nurture it.

Morrigan grit her teeth as she lifted her staff in a sweeping arc, magic pouring from the tip and surging into the flesh of the abominations that surrounded them. Three of the frightful creatures fell to her spell, and she smirked at their smoldering remains. _This_ was what Melody needed to see. She needed to see the destruction she could be capable of, the strength that it would take to overcome what she faced. She knew so little about what was ahead, and Morrigan was not so certain she would survive without a little help along the way. Mother may have unfaltering confidence, but whatever knowledge she had that granted her such surety she did not deign to share with her daughter.

She turned, ready to face the next lumbering cretin, and as her feet scuffled against the foot-worn stone she heard the scream, cut short by the blood filling Melody’s mouth. An abomination had its long, clawed hand driven through her stomach, and she was hunched over the wound as it yanked its arm away. Blood flew through the air in a crimson bow of red rain, spattering against the walls and the floor. Melody fell to her knees, her eyes wide with shock as her mouth worked in a soundless scream, a red line dripping down her chin.

The abomination lived not a moment longer. It was filled with blade, arrow, and fire as Alistair, Leliana, and Morrigan descended upon the creature, extinguishing its existence in a fury that rivaled that of the greatest demons of rage. There was nothing left but a scorched mark on the floor when they had finished, but not a one bothered to admire their victory. Each turned to the coughing warden, laying on the floor and clutching her belly as blood slid through the gaps in her fingers.

Suddenly hardening Melody, tempering her, turning her into the weapon she needed to be seemed unimportant. Suddenly whatever designs Morrigan had about changing her become strange ideas, things she couldn’t imagine thinking about the girl who was trying to smile up at her friends as they pressed their hands into her wound, trying to hold her life inside of her before all of it drained away. Morrigan could only think how cruel it was, how unfair it was, that she had taken this blow.

It was shocking for her to think it, but she found herself silently pleaded with whatever forces controlled the tide of fate in this world. _She does not deserve this_ , she thought. She deserved better than an end in a tower full of ghosts. It did not matter in this moment what she was truly meant for, it did not matter in this moment what Morrigan was meant to do or wanted to do. The only thing that mattered was that this child lying on the ground did not deserve this, and Morrigan wanted nothing more than to make it right. Her light, no matter how infuriating or naïve, did not deserve to be extinguished in this way, or any way. She was brighter than them all, brighter than any one person in this dismal world deserved to be, and Morrigan found that the idea of her leaving them to fight this battle alone was completely unacceptable. If anyone should survive the coming storm, it should be _her_.

“Stand aside, all of you.” Wynne’s voice cut through Morrigan’s frantic, unfamiliar thoughts, and she looked to the old woman with the spark of hope in the bottom of her heart.

“You’re a healer?” Alistair choked the question out, tears practically pouring from his eyes. Part of her wished to mock him, to step away and dry her hands and pretend she cared as little for the warden as she did for any of the rest of them. Yet the sting in her own eyes brought the lie to the light, and she could do nothing but step away quietly, nodding to Wynne in acknowledgement, or possibly thanks, she was not sure which.

“Yes, now give me room to work or we’ll lose her before I can cast the spell.” Wynne gently pushed Alistair out of the way before brushing a lock of hair from Melody’s face. “There’s a good girl, stay with us just a bit longer.”

 

***

 

Melody watched the old woman gather her strength as her vision seemed to wax and wane in clarity. Wynne was a bit of an enigma to her. She was the last faithful bastion from a group of people that had been systematically abused by the powers in play for some time now. She was calm, serene even, with a distinct lack of vitriol for the wrongs committed against her and those of her ilk. Melody admired that, probably more than she would admit, even to herself. She seemed like the kind of woman that had lived through a life of hardship and somehow come out on the other side with a positive outlook, a peace that could only come with accepting the things that had happened and moving on from them. Wynne reminded her of her mother, which was comforting and painful all at once.

Currently, gritting her teeth against the pain in her stomach, Melody was excessively grateful that she had decided to bring the woman along. She had been careless, trying to protect Leliana from a hit her fellow rogue had not seen coming, and she had been all but run through by an abomination. Alistair had been at her side, striking down the hapless creature before she had even fallen to the ground, but it was too late to protect her from the deadly damage she had taken, blood seeping through the shredded gap in her armor. Now she lay on the floor, staring up at the ceiling while her vision blurred. Wynne had assured her she would be fine, but the pain and blood were telling a slightly different story, and the worry in the eyes of her companions did not ease her anxiety.

Warm, soothing magic poured from Wynne's fingertips, cascading over her stomach, and she gasped as she felt her flesh start to knit back together. Alistair was there, holding her hand as she tried to find purchase in reality again, her head spinning in a blur of red and blue as her life rushed to escape and Wynne’s spell sought to hold it in. She coughed, feeling the metallic tang of blood on her lips, wondering if healing magic was really going to help at this point. Alistair's fingers gripped in hers were a comforting anchor to this world, holding her together as her threads frayed with pain. Her vision swam, but she managed to focus on him, her eyes locking onto those warm browns, like hot chocolate on a cold day, forever her source of safety and light. She shouldn’t use him so, but in her delirium she couldn’t help it, and let the sunlight in his gaze wash over her.

“Breathe, damn you.” he ordered, his face a mask that tried to hide the worry even as his lower lip trembled around the words.

She tried to laugh but coughed instead. “You're not...the boss...of me.” she managed, trying her best to grin at him and failing when it turned into a grimace of pain. She could see beads of sweat forming on Wynne's forehead, and a voice somewhere in the back of her head thought that was not a very good sign.

He laughed bitterly, touching a finger to her cheek. “No, I'm definitely not. Breathe anyways, okay?” he begged her. She nodded meekly, unable to do more.

The magic was working, however. She could feel the pain in her stomach receding, the breath in her lungs becoming more satisfying. After a few more moments the pain was gone, and Wynne all but collapsed against her staff, Leliana rushing to help hold the old woman up as she sagged with fatigue.

“There, you should be right as rain now.” Wynne said cheerfully, her tone at odds with her exhausted posture. Melody sat up shakily, wiping her lips with her free hand, then spitting to the side to clear the blood from her mouth.

“Can we all agree leaping in front of sharp objects is not a sound strategy?” Morrigan asked, although she sounded more relieved than she would ever be willing to admit. Melody felt a rush of warmth for her unlikely friend, and smiled as brightly as she could manage. Morrigan may have a somewhat prickly personality, but she had a soft heart under all that dark wit, Melody was sure of it. She had been raised by a woman who was more terror than she was trust, and that sort of life would be hard on anyone. Morrigan might pretend she was above such silly emotions, but she was a person, just like any one of them, and every person needed a friend now and then. She would be forever glad she had given the witch a chance to join them, even if she did seem to make it her personal hobby to drive people away where Melody was seeking to bring them in.

“I think we all owe Wynne a drink after this.” Alistair said, his voice grim despite his attempts to make the comment lighthearted. Using the hand laced with hers, he pulled her up off the ground, gripping her fingers tightly as he looked her over, proving to himself she was indeed alright.

“I have a fondness for wine.” the old mage said, smiling maternally at all of them. Morrigan rolled her eyes while Leliana began promising her an entire crate from some Orlesian vineyard. Melody glanced at Alistair as his thumb traced a path along the back of her hand.

“I'm alright, truly.” she kept her voice low enough so only he would hear, squeezing his fingers. Blushing, he released her, letting his eyes drop to the floor.

“Well, try not to do that again. I personally prefer you without all the extra holes in your middle.” his tone was flippant, but the shadows in his eyes and the pink flush of color on his cheeks told her that he meant it sincerely.

“Anything for you, my dear Alistair.” she said, giggling as the coloring on his face deepened. She took a deep breath, relieved that her lungs seemed to be holding the air once more, and let out a small sigh. She had been scared, for a moment there, and she wondered just how many times on this journey she would brush so close to death. She felt as though she were dancing on the tip of a needle, and one wrong move would send her tumbling over the edge into an unknown abyss. It was frightening, and even though it pricked at her feet as she swayed to the music, she found that she didn’t want to fall off yet and prayed the music wouldn’t stop.

She shook her head, pushing such thoughts to the back of her mind. They had work to do, and she could ponder the strangeness of her own mortality later. The crisis now averted, they started heading up to the next floor of the tower. Disgusting hunks of what looked like flesh were growing out of the walls on these levels, telltale signs of corruption, according to Morrigan and Wynne. They proceeded with caution, rounding each corner expecting to see more abominations or demons, but this floor was oddly empty and strangely silent, as though an invisible fog had wrapped around the air and muffled any sound of their passage, or anything else that might be lurking in the dark recesses of the abandoned rooms. It seemed they might make it through the entire floor without a single encounter, but she should have learned by now that things were not going to ever go that simply for them.

They entered a large common room near the stairwell to the next floor, the walls lined with living matter, breathing and pulsing as they walked by. The ground squished beneath their feet and Melody wished she could run from the sensation, wanting nothing more than to walk on solid stone once more. Inside the room, bathed in a warm red glow, was a hulking mass of bubbling skin and veins that turned to them so slowly she felt a spell had been cast over it. It regarded them with bloodshot eyes, and she felt her mind fill with a hazy heaviness that settled across her entire body. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy, her eyes dry and begging to be closed. The demon spoke slowly, his voice a lullaby, whispering things that were not so much words as ideas, thoughts of home and warmth, of security and safety, of rest and relaxation. Someone, Melody would never be able to remember who afterward, mentioned that it was a sloth demon, and as she rested her head on the floor some part of her urged herself to get back up. The pull of sleep, of giving in to the tepid tide of fatigue, was far too strong, however. Melody held out as long as she could, watching her friend’s eyes shut one by one. Eventually she reached her limit, and the black of oblivion pulled her under and ushered her straight into the fade.


	10. Remember me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we are in the Fade, and it is not very fun for anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this part got pretty much completely redone, and I may have changed it up a bit from what happens in the game...*sweats nervously* HOPE YOU LIKE IT. :)

The world was mist and a faint wind that brushed tingling moisture along her skin. She opened her eyes and looked up at a steel grey sky, blinking away the dizziness swimming in her head. She sat up, her fingers slipping through springy grass as she tried to find balance. She couldn’t remember falling asleep, nor could she remember how she came to think this ruin was the place for such a break. The breeze tossed the loose burgundy strands of her hair into her face, and she reached up to brush them away as she scrambled to her feet. There was a sense of urgency running through her veins like the constant beating of a violent drum, but as she peered at the quiet trees and toppled pillars of the ruins at Ostagar she could not for the life of her think why she should feel so tense.

“Alistair?” she called out, wondering where everyone had gotten to. She had been traveling with him, hadn’t she? And there were others, she thought…but as she tried to recall their names the words seemed to dissolve in her mind. There were flashes of memory, images of people that were a hazy blur to her now. A woman with auburn hair tilting her head back and laughing. A man with a deep frown around a mouthful of cookie. A dark beauty with eyes like the moon. She shook her head as the images faded, as though carried downstream by the rushing current in her veins that drove her to move. She clenched her fists at her side, wondering if she had been dreaming.

Yet still, she could not see Alistair. He had been right by her side, hadn’t he?

“Alistair?! Where are you?”

“Come now, pup. Stop shouting, you’ll wake the whole camp with that racket.” Her father walked down the decaying steps towards her, a proud smile on his wise face. Her heart stopped beating in her chest and her breath crumbled to dust in her lungs. His dark hair hung around his face, the moisture bringing out the subtle curl that mother so loved. She hadn’t seen him there, hadn’t any idea where he had come from, and her mind frantically tried to fit the pieces of this puzzle together as her panic threatened to overwhelm her.

“Dad?” she took half a step towards him, her hand flying up to the base of her throat. _This cannot be_ , she thought, but when she tried to think of why there were no reasons in her head, an empty howling where the answers might have been, a void that made her shiver with unease.

“Ah, my little Melody, the prettiest song ever sung. I am so proud of what you’ve done!” he reached her and threw his arms around her, his embrace warm and familiar. He smelled exactly like he always had, like cinnamon tea and honeyed pastries, like the whetstone he used to sharpen his blade. The hair of his beard still tickled her scalp as he planted a kiss on the top of her head. She held him and breathed in deeply, inhaling the complicated scent she never thought she would experience again.

_How strange_ , she thought, _why should I think I would never smell him again?_

An image of fire and blood flashed through her mind, the sound of screaming echoing in her ears, and she jumped out of his arms as though she had been burned, stepping away as she tried to remember where those ideas had come from. Something was not right here, something did not add up. Why could she not remember where all this darkness was coming from?

“P-proud? You said you were proud of me?” she murmured, attempting to buy time before he could try to hold her again. There was a deep fear gripping the base of her spine, and she had the urge to turn and flee. She couldn’t understand why her father, smiling and affable as he always was, would inspire such a feeling in her, but every nerve in her body was screaming, demanding that she get away.

He looked surprised at her reaction. “Well of course! My daughter, the heroic grey warden! You helped to save Ostagar. The blight is over! Don’t you remember?”

She swallowed around the foul taste building in the back of her throat. “Alistair?”

She turned at the sound of footsteps, and was disappointed that it was only Duncan walking towards them. He frowned at her, his dark eyes full of concern. “Melody? Are you alright? You look a little pale.”

She furrowed her brow and bit the inside of her cheek, trying to concentrate even though it was like trying to hold sand in a sieve. “I don’t remember…Duncan, where is Alistair? When did we fight? I don’t recall how I got here.”

Her father rushed forward, taking her arm and leading her brusquely to a small bench in the side of the clearing. “Come, darling. Sit down, take a rest. You must have hit your head during the battle.”

She sat, feeling numb, and stared at the ground, watching the dark blades of grass shift in the gentle air. Another flash of a memory danced through her head, and she gasped as she remembered dark clouds masking the light as blood seeped into the grass, two men’s lifeless eyes staring into the endless nothing. She shot up out of the seat, taking a step away from the concerned men before her.

“Melody, please, calm down.” Her father pleaded. He turned to Duncan, “Go get the healers.” Duncan nodded and rushed out of the clearing, and her father approached her with his hand outstretched. She stared at it as though it were a venomous snake, ready to strike at her if she were not wary. “Melody, come, sit. There’s no reason to be alarmed, the danger has passed.”

“It has?” her voice trembled with fear. She wanted to believe her father, wanted to sink into his arms and ask him to tell her one of the stories of her mother, the way he always used to when she got scared during the stormy nights at the estate. She wanted to listen, to know that everything was alright…but how could she believe him when her heart was thundering against her ribs?

He took her hand again and led her to the bench once more, and she allowed him to sit her down and rub his calloused hands across her back comfortingly. “Shhh, darling don’t worry. We’ll take care of everything now, you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

She let her father pull her close as she gazed into the empty sky. The clouds were so thick they seemed to have swallowed the sun, and she could feel the damp in the air heralding a storm. It was the night of the storm that she had become a grey warden, the night of the storm that they had marched on Ostagar.

_There had been a storm when her father had been murdered in his home._

Melody leapt out of the chair once more, this time backing far away from the _thing_ wearing her father’s face. “Who – _what_ are you?” she demanded. She reached for her daggers but found nothing strapped to her back, and she felt suddenly exposed in the open clearing, nowhere to hide and no way to defend herself.

“Pup, it’s me! Please, you’re frightening me!” he pleaded.

She took another step back, holding her ground this time. “Where’s Alistair?” she snapped, latching on to the question they had refused to answer several times.

The thing could see in her eyes that whatever illusion had held her before was now broken. “You ungrateful little brat.” Her father snarled, lurching towards her. His face was no longer concerned, no longer an echo of the loving man he had been. Now it was full of rage and fury, a murderous gleam in his eyes as he rushed towards his daughter.

She screamed and turned, running to the edge of the clearing, towards the cover of the trees. She could hear his footsteps behind her, edging closer to her with every step, and she reaching deep into her reserves of strength and pumped her legs harder, creating enough distance between them that she could take a moment to hide. When she could no longer hear his breath or his footfalls, she slid behind the trunk of a tree, holding on to the rough bark and trying to fill her lungs with air without making a sound.

“You could have been happy!” the man that was not her father screamed, somewhere in the forest far off to the left of her. “I created the perfect world for you, and you scorn it like the spoiled child you are.”

Every memory that had been held behind a wall of murky doubt in her mind came flooding forth, and she knew everything that had puzzled her moments before. She remembered her last night at home, she remembered the joining, she remembered the battle, she remembered Alistair holding her while she cried for all the people she had lost, and most of all she remembered her friends, who had fought by her side towards the top of the broken tower. She grit her teeth, anger bubbling up inside her like she had never felt before. She had promised herself she would not forget them, the people that she met along the way, and this thing had nearly made her break that vow.

This time when she reached behind to her back, her palms wrapped around the hilts of her daggers. She pulled the blades from their sheaths and the ringing sound of the metal scraping against the leather reverberated through the quiet woods. She turned towards the direction that the thing’s insults had come from and marched forward with purpose, her eyes spotting her father within moments.

She was on him faster than he could anticipate, and her daggers opened the skin across his throat like she were merely dragging them through water. There was no blood that poured out, no struggle to breathe as his life ebbed away. Instead the thing that was not - and could never be - her father simply disappeared, blowing away like so much smoke in the midnight wind. She stood in the clearing, her chest heaving as she tried not to cry. She tipped her head upwards and screamed, letting out her frustration as her throat scraped raw around the sound. She closed her eyes and let the emotion take her, drowning in it as she worried at where she was, at what she was up against, and if her friends were even still alive.

When she opened her eyes again the clearing was gone. Instead she was in a tilted corridor, a green glow coming from the tendrils of smoke drifting through the still air. The ground beneath her feet was rock solid, the sky above her head slanted and strange. She looked around for the first time at the true form of the fade, and she trembled in terror at how lost it made her feel.

She saw a row of doors in front of her, and she gripped her blades tight in her hands as she walked towards them. Terrified or not, she would find her way through this mess and drag them all out of it. She only hoped she hadn’t wasted too much time trapped in that nightmare, and that she wasn’t already too late.

 

***

 

“Girl, I asked you to stir the pot. Why are to still sitting idle? Have you no brains in your head?”

Morrigan rolled her eyes at the shade of her mother, examining her fingernails for imperfections as she feigned boredom. “You are puppet, but you have quite captured all of her annoying qualities. Tis a shame you lack any of her usefulness.”

“Useful? I’m a damn sight more useful than you are, insolent child.” Flemeth, or the faded version of her that the demon had conjured, grimaced in distaste.

“Come now, _Mother_ , you’ve already called me insolent today. You aren’t even a _good_ imitation if all you can do is repeat yourself.” She sighed, leaning against the rough stone of the winding rock tower behind her. It was curious how she could feel it scraping against her skin despite the fact that it was all a construct within her own mind. The fact that she _knew_ that she was in the fade made the illusion incomplete, and so instead of the hut in the middle of the wilds she was stationed with the poor false Flemeth in the middle of a rocky plateau, the sides dropping off into endless green abyss that led to nowhere, or madness, whichever came first.

The thing that was meant to be her mother prattled on further, but Morrigan did not bother to humor it with a response any longer. She strode over to a shorter rocky formation and scrambled on top of it, curling her feet underneath her legs as she regarded the luminescent sky. If she squinted her eyes she could almost see the fabled black city in the distance, cursed towers piercing the void, forever promising endless secrets, and forever unreachable. Her hands twitched with the desire to get up, to leap off the edge of this abysmal excuse for a prison and find her way to the once golden gates, to break her way into their locked and abandoned doorways and claim the truth for herself. She could hold thousands of years of knowledge in her hands, and with it she could control not only her own fate but that of the world, and finally she might surpass the amount of secrets her mother held and escape her ineffable machinations.

She knew, however, that she would never reach that city, just as no other traveler of the fade had been able to before her. There were no roads that led to those gates, and she had not the knowledge or ability to make them. One day, she promised herself quietly. One day she would know the truth, and one day it would set her free.

For now, she would have to content herself with waiting for her warden to come to the rescue, like some ridiculous damsel in a storybook. Morrigan _could_ try to face the demon on her own, of course, but she was not quite confident enough in her abilities to trust that she would be victorious. Aside from that, there was the matter that Morrigan escaping alone would hardly serve much purpose if Melody and Alistair remained. Even if she defeated the demon, there was no guarantee she could find and rescue either of them. She could wander the fade for a lifetime and never find even the smallest trace. If she knew more of how to walk through dreams, to mold the fade to form the pathways she sought, then she would have more bravery to make her move, but alas she had not trained in such magic. So she would sit on this rock, ignoring the false crone buzzing round her head, and wait for someone to find their way to her.

She allowed herself an exultant smile when a door appeared across the clearing, smoky air swirling around the wood as it swung open. Melody looked paler than usual, but otherwise in one piece as she stepped through the portal, her eyes scanning the area with rapid, darting movements. She caught sight of Morrigan, and the relief in her gaze was as plain as the sun in the summer heat. Morrigan leapt of the rock, dusting her hands off more out of habit than necessity. Melody ran to her, eyeing Flemeth with trepidation as approached.

“Are you alright?” She breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. Morrigan could see the tremor rattling through her now that she was close.

She reached across the distance and placed her hands on her shoulders. “I am annoyed beyond measure, but otherwise unharmed. The demon apparently lacked creativity for my trap.” She smiled, and Melody relaxed somewhat beneath her fingers, her thin shoulders releasing some of the fraught tension in their muscles.

“Oh, good. Mine was…” her eyes lost focus for a moment, but it was brief before she seemed to shake whatever memories haunted her. “Nevermind. We need to find the others and get out of here.”

“Indeed. We must defeat the demon’s puppet first, however.” Morrigan turned to face the shade that was supposed to be her mother, drawing her staff from her back. Melody merely nodded in agreement, placing her short blades in her very capable hands and setting her feet into a fighting stance. Morrigan smiled at her, the tips of her fingers tingling with magic as she drew it from the very fabric of the world around her. “Let’s make this fun, shall we?”

Melody returned her grin, her nod more enthusiastic this time, and she twirled her blades in her hand, adjusting their position as she prepared for their trick. They had tried this once before and deemed it too destructive for common battles, but Morrigan felt this was a special occasion. After all, it wasn’t every day she got to kill her mother.

With a glance of warning that was little more than a twitch of her eyes, Melody was off, rushing towards Flemeth as the withered hag prepared to fight against her attackers. Morrigan brought forth the magic she required, taking it within herself and molding it to her will, bidding it to obey with all the power and delicacy she required. She aimed the spell at the running rogue, wrapping the tendrils of silver lightning around her body without scorching her skin, sinking the power into her blades without shocking her tiny fingers. Melody became living electricity, a ball of destruction that their foe could not hope to stand against. The demon’s puppet screamed once before it was silenced, body reduced to ribbons as it writhed with the full chaos of the spell. It fell to the ground, an empty shell that could hold them no longer, and within moments it was gone, absorbed into the ether from whence it came.

Morrigan nearly toppled over when Melody came crashing into her, thin arms that held surprising strength nearly crushing the breath from her lungs.

“Are you trying to smother me?” she cried indignantly, though she felt her cheeks heating at the unexpected response, which in truth only served to irk her further.

“Andraste’s flaming socks, I _love_ it when we do that.” She beamed, her smile bright enough to paint the Black City golden again.

“Andraste’s _what?_  Was that supposed to be a curse? Of all the ridiculous things to say.” Morrigan shook her head, unable to quell the smile on her own face.

“Oh, mother never let me swear so I always found creative ways to…hey, what’s happening? Where are you going?”

Morrigan glanced sharply at her friend, and she could see her form start to dissolve even as she felt the tug of magic, dragging her away from the place she now stood. Melody’s eyes filled with panic and she reached for her, but her hands passed through her body as though it were no more substantial than air.

“Relax! Meet me at the demon’s layer. Perhaps this time we’ll light your blades on fire!” Morrigan shouted, and she saw Melody laugh as she disappeared. She couldn’t hear the sound, but she had memorized the way her mirth carried through the air like ringing bells.

She looked around and found herself on a road that went only one direction, and so she picked up her feet and followed, confident that it was leading her to where she needed to be. Melody would guide them all out, she was sure of it. If there was anyone that could do it, it was her.

 

***

 

The fire from the candles cast an otherworldly glow on the warm wood of the Chantry walls. The bench against her back was comfortable, the robes along her skin were soft, and little Bethany was soothing as she curled against her side, her eyes filled with wonder as she looked to Leliana. The light from the fading sun filtered through the stain glass windows and painted their world in brilliant colors, and Leliana thought that truly this day was blessed by the Maker.

“Sister Leliana, won’t you tell me another story?” Bethany asked, the air from her words whistling between the empty place where there was a gap in her teeth, her last baby tooth having fallen out just the day prior.

Leliana picked up one of the girl’s raven braids, feeling the silken strands of her hair as she considered the request. “Another story?” she laughed as Bethany nodded vehemently. “Haven’t I told you all of them yet?”

“No!” Bethany denied it almost immediately, and Leliana laughed again, tipping her head back and letting the sound fill her belly.

“Alright, but just one more. Your mother will be sending your sister out to fetch you soon.” She tapped a finger against the tip of Bethany’s small nose, and she scrunched her face up in response.

“Lilly always gets to stay out late, why can’t I?” she pouted.

Leliana smiled. “That is a story only your mother knows, little Hawke.”

Bethany nodded, accepting that answer in good faith. “Fine, then tell me a story only _you_ know.”

“Hmmm.” Leliana tapped her finger against her chin, pretending to think about another story despite the fact that she already knew exactly which tale she would tell. “Have I ever told you about –”

The sound of the doors opening cut her words short, and the pair of them turned to see a woman with lovely red hair stride confidently into the chantry. Leliana gently moved Bethany from her lap, shifting aside her grasping hands as she stood to face the newcomer.

“Welcome, friend. How may I help you?” she asked.

The woman looked around the room suspiciously before her gaze rested on Leliana once more. Her eyes were intense as they studied her, and Leliana felt like she knew them from somewhere, although she couldn’t quite recall where.

“Sister, the story!” Bethany cried, her voice taking on a shrill tone that she hadn’t used since she had grown out of her toddler phase.

Leliana frowned down at her, shocked at this display of discourtesy. In truth Bethany was normally the most well behaved of the Hawkes, and it was unlike her to be so petulant. “Bethany, don’t be rude. We have a guest.”

“Leliana,” the woman began, her voice carrying a sense of urgency that struck a chord of fear in Leliana’s heart. “Do you remember me?”

“Have we met? I’m sorry, I can’t recall your name…” she frowned as she tried to remember. She _did_ feel that this woman was familiar, but she saw many people in her service to the Maker. She could have been nothing more than a girl she had met after service one day, come to ask for another song.

The woman shook her head, her frustration showing in the way her brow furrowed. “Tell me, what are you doing here?”

Leliana blinked in surprise. “Pardon?”

“What do you do here, in this chantry?” she elaborated.

“Oh, I serve the Maker, of course. What else would I be doing here?” Leliana smiled pragmatically.

The woman pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes. “Okay, let’s try this. Where is _here?"_  she asked, and the woman took a step towards them, her eyes open again and focused as though she were trying to send a message through them.

“Why, Lothering…we’re in…wait, no, that’s not right…” she stumbled over the words as the statement rang false against her tongue. Wasn’t she in Lothering? Wasn’t that where she had been for the last few years? Something nagged at the edge of her consciousness, some little bit of memory that seemed out of place and out of focus. She thought hard about how she had come to be here, and realized that she couldn’t remember waking in her room that morning.

She gasped as a vivid image rolled across her thoughts, hitting her like a blast of wind that stole her breath away. She remembered the way the moonlight had hit the lake as she rocked in the small ferry boat, like all the stars in the sky had come to rest on the surface of the water, glittering pieces of silver against midnight blue stillness. She remembered laughing, and feeling warm and happy despite the chill of the night air and the grim purpose of their task, and she remembered the green eyes of the woman filled with light as she smiled at those gathered in the boat. “The lake…” she murmured, in awe of the strange memory that should not be hers.

Bethany grabbed her hand, pulling her from her thoughts as she yanked her forward. “Leliana, make the scary woman go away!”

“Bethany!” Leliana chided, appalled at such behavior. “She is not scary, and all are welcome in the Maker’s house.”

The woman moved forward and took Leliana’s other hand, her small fingers soft against Leliana’s calloused palm. “Leliana, remember the lake. Why were you at the lake?” Leliana frowned and started to pull away, but the woman held tighter to her hand. “Look at me, remember me. Remember why we went to the lake.”

Then it all became clear, as if the clouds had parted to allow that moonlight she remembered so well to shine down and illuminate the secrets trapped within her mind. They were crossing the lake to get to the tower, the Circle tower, and Melody was leading them to save those in need. Leliana remembered leaving Lothering, looking back at the hapless souls whom she prayed would be able to flee in time. She remembered before that, as well, and how the little Hawke child with the elegant braids had grown up to become a lovely young woman that didn’t come to the chantry to ask for stories anymore, once her magical abilities had manifested and her family had felt the need to hide.

Leliana recoiled from the little girl at her knees, backing into Melody as she tried to get away from the thing that was masquerading as innocence. Bethany, or the thing that was pretending to be Bethany, sneered up at her, a murderous red glow flashing across her eyes. Before they had a chance to react she erupted into flames, her flesh distorting as she started to grow, a blazing ball of fire and fury. Leliana grabbed Melody’s hand as they rushed to the other end of the room, running from the rapidly enlarging beast as it started howling in rage.

“Melody, we have to kill it!” she cried over the roar of the inferno that was engulfing the room. Melody offered only a nod in response, and handed her a bow, although Leliana would never know where she got it. She took it in her hands and nocked an arrow, aiming it at the rage demon as it slid its way towards them. Melody held her daggers in her hands, and in a flash she was gone, flying through the air with speed equal to the arrow Leliana released from the bow, and as the silver tip of the projectile sank between the creature’s blazing eyes, Melody cut across its middle with her blades. It roared, fire spouting from its terrible mouth, but the resistance wasn’t long lived as Melody struck again, driving her dagger straight through its skull. The fire faded, and the hulking mass shriveled into a pile of ash, dissipating in the air like so much dust.

Leliana went to move towards her friend, but as she took a step she felt the world seem to tilt and a thick fog rolled across her vision.

She reached out, trying to grasp hold of something substantial to anchor her to this reality a little longer. “Melody! I’m sorry, I’m sorry I fell for the demon’s trap!”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, trust me!” Melody shouted, although her voice sounded like it came through the winding tunnels of a cave, and echo from some far away chamber. “Don’t be afraid! Morrigan will be waiting for you at the demon’s layer! I’ll find you soon!”

“Alright!” Leliana called back, but she could tell that the sound never reached Melody’s ears. She blinked and the fog seemed to clear, leaving her in a corridor that traveled in only one direction. Leliana squared her shoulders and marched resolutely towards the other end, knowing that if this was where her friend would send her, then it was where she was supposed to be.

 

***

 

The fire in the hearth crackled with a merry light, warming the small room that was filled with charming decoration meant to inspire comfort above all else. She could hear the wind shifting against the wooden walls of the cabin, the storm outside making the whole structure creak and moan as it stood against the grasping fingers of the cold winter. Wynne sat bundled in a thick quilt, the patterns on the fabric rubbed away after years of use, rocking in a beautifully carved wooden chair and cradling the tiny bundle of joy in her arms. Rhys smiled up at her, his rounded cheeks red with merriment, and she couldn’t help but sigh with contentment. She could see the adoration in his beautiful eyes, and it made her heart ache with how much she loved him. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t loved his little head, his little smile, his little laugh. She reached up and used her finger to lightly tickle his cheeks, and he burst into a fit of bright giggles that could have driven away the dourest of shadows.

The brisk breath of wind that slipped through the open door startled her, and she bundled Rhys closer as she peered at the intruder, a young girl with hair the color of wine lit by firelight. Her bright green eyes looked around the room with suspicion, and Wynne bristled at the lack of courtesy.

“What do you want? Who are you, and why have you come?” she demanded. Rhys started to fuss in her arms, and she cursed the woman for dispelling such a lovely moment.

The woman shut the door behind her and the bustling wind was silenced. “Do you know who I am?”

“I don’t recall meeting you before…” the thought trailed off as she gazed at the girl, and she wondered if that statement were really true. Something about her seemed familiar, but she had no real memory of meeting such an intense young woman. Rhys flailed his chubby arms and grabbed at the collar of her robe, pulling for her attention. She looked down at him and attempted to calm his fretful mood, but he seemed too agitated to relent. “Please, whoever you are you should go, you’re upsetting the baby.”

Surprisingly the woman smiled, although there was something about it that was unspeakably sad. “He’s beautiful. Is he yours?”

Wynne felt her distress melt as she gazed down at the tiny little life she had made. “Yes.” She whispered, the word barely escaping around the sudden lump in her throat. She swallowed and blinked back tears, overwhelmed with affection for her son.

“What became of him?” the woman asked, taking a measured step towards them.

“They took him away because they don’t allow mages to have children in the Circle.” She said the words before she rightly knew what they meant, and she frowned in confusion. How could that be true? How could he have been taken when he was right here, in her arms? Yet her heart stung like she had mourned him for years, her soul robbed of the chance to be a mother. She felt like she had lost him a thousand times, each morning that she was faced with empty arms another was day he had been taken from her, and yet here he was, squirming in her grasp.

The woman took another step towards them, and Rhys started to wail in fear, his high pitched cry filling the room with sound that banged against her eardrums. She started rocking him quickly, trying to hush him, and when that did not work she began humming an old lullaby deep in her throat. She couldn’t remember all the words to the old song, but she remembered the refrain well enough, and she whispered the words as she held Rhys to her breast.

“ _Always my light, in this life and the next. Always, my child, will my heart belong to you_.” A tear slipped from the corner of her eye as she hummed the rest of the tune, and she couldn’t explain the sadness that was threatening to drown her, stealing the breath from between her lips as they trembled. She could smell her child, the same way he had smelled the day he had been born, his soft hair carrying the powdery fragrance of new life. The woman was speaking to her, but she couldn’t hear the words over the crying of the baby and the low cadence of the lullaby, and she clutched Rhys closer still, trying to hold on to her sanity as something strange dragged against the edge of her mind, a hazy insistence that sought to drive her to madness, she was sure of it.

“Wynne, please, look at your hands.” The woman asked. Wynne looked at her fingers, thinking it was the strangest request she had ever heard. She saw her fingers, worn with age, calloused from gripping her staff for so many years. She saw her skin, wrinkled around her delicate bones, red around her knuckles and too thin to keep out the cold any longer. Looking at her hands, she could remember how they had felt when she _was_ younger, remember how it had felt to hold her son for mere minutes before he was taken from her arms and placed in the care of the Templars. She could remember facing the loss with as much dignity as she could manage, returning to her duties as soon as she had recovered from her birth. She could remember dedicating herself to the circle, because she had precious little other options presented to her. She remembered Ostagar, and the fury of the darkspawn. She remembered fleeing to the tower, only to be met with more terror and evil. She remembered the warden with the red hair, holding out her hand and promising to do her best.

Wynne looked at the woman, her eyes truly seeing her for the first time. “The warden. You’re the warden fighting to save the tower.” She said flatly.

Melody held out her hand, palm open and begging for her to take it, a mirror of how they had first met. “Yes, and that is _not your son_.” Her words were insistent, and it was in that moment Wynne was filled with the cold realization that she was right. Her son, her little Rhys, would be little no longer. He would be grown to nearly a man now, and the weeping thing in her arms was a poor imitation of what he had been before she had lost him. Wynne set the thing down on the chair and scrambled away from it, her hands trembling as it continued to scream. Melody stepped in front of her protectively as the thing that was not a child writhed on the ground, its shape changing before their very eyes. Its cries became hideous, long drawn out screeches that tore at the edges of their nerves and threatened to swallow them in never ending sound. Its limbs grew long and grotesque, its face stretched as its mouth opened wider than should have been possible. They could hear the faint sound of bones popping beneath the all-consuming crying, and Wynne shuddered in response, feeling her stomach roll with the need to be sick.

She gave herself one moment. One small moment to collect her thoughts. To mourn the loss that she had been grieving over since the day her son had been born, to remember the way he had smelled and feel the full force of her misery at never getting to see him grow into the fine young man she knew he was. She gave herself this moment, and took a deep breath, remembering how that tragedy had tempered her and made her the strong woman she was today. When the moment had passed she lifted her staff, holding it in front of her and moving to stand beside Melody, rather than behind her.

That was all the signal the rogue needed, and in the blink of an eye she was off, dancing around to the back of the spindly demon that now stood before them. Cuts from her wicked little blades appeared across the distorted green flesh, and the creature’s cries reflected its anger and pain. It tried to turn, but Wynne was already prepared, and without a word she summoned her magic, sending the ice in her heart through the channels of the fade to latch on to the demon’s clawed feet, freezing it in place. Melody drove her dagger into its gut, and finally the screaming stopped as the demon toppled forward, dissolving into nothing before it even hit the ground, nothing left but crystals of ice where it used to stand.

Melody was by her side in the next moment, her arms wrapped around her in a fierce embrace that Wynne had not expected. It was strange to think this child would seek to comfort her over loss she could not possibly understand, but the gesture was appreciated all the same. Wynne allowed herself a moment to accept the support before the world seemed to shift, and everything started to fade from her vision.  
“Meet the others at the demon’s layer.” Melody told her, her voice husky with emotion. “Wynne, I’m sorry I had to save you.”

Wynne blinked and she was gone. She no longer stood in the cozy cabin, but in a long hallway that had only one door that she could see. She looked to the space where Melody had been, her heart brimming with a mix of emotions that she did not have the vocabulary to describe.

“I’m sorry too, but not for that.” She murmured. She lifted her head, inhaling to shake the melancholy from her mind, and with her chin held high she strode down the hall. She let herself be filled with rage, angry over having been used in such a way, and she gripped her staff tightly as she prepared to seek vengeance against the creature that would dare use the memory of her child against her.


	11. Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melody finds Alistair in the fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I changed this part up quite a bit. I just finished editing, and I was in a bit of a rush to get it done on time, so hopefully the quality didn't suffer. Hopefully all like, five of you reading this enjoyed the changes. :)

His fingers passed over the plush cream velvet of his jacket for perhaps the thousandth time that afternoon, nervously trying to straighten what was already impeccably straight. Satisfied that there was not a thread out of place, Alistair continued his steady pacing across the courtyard of the castle, his dress shoes making smart clicks against the well-worn stone. He placed his hands behind his back, pausing to gaze towards the gates, his anxiety writhing in his stomach like a group of very excited eels. He swallowed around the arid desert in his throat, staring at the point where he knew she would enter, wishing his palms were not quite so sweaty, but afraid to wipe them on his pants lest he leave streaks on the dark blue fabric. It would not do to be in such a state of disarray today.

_Today_ , he thought, his chest filling with air as he inhaled deeply, proud of the momentous occasion despite his nerves. Today was the day that Melody would meet his family. It had been some time since he had met her, although he couldn’t remember exactly how long. It was strange, now that he thought of it. He knew that it had been important to him, but somehow the moment escaped his recall. He shook his head, choosing to ignore the confusion over the past in order to focus on the present. Regardless of how long it had been, it was high time that she met his brother and father, and high time they provided her with the seal of their approval. It was true that Alistair would never be king, but it was still vital that whomever he chose to have at his side gain the endorsement of his family.

When he finally saw her walk through the doorway near the gatehouse his breath left his lungs. It felt like it had been so long since he had last seen her, like she had spent half of an eternity secreted away in some pocket of timeless wonder. Her hair caught the sunlight pouring down through the clouds in the sky, the wavy tendrils framing her face the color of a winter rose blooming against the snow. Each time he gazed into her spring green eyes he felt like his life was beginning anew all over again, and before he knew it his feet were pushing him towards her, hurried footsteps bringing him closer to this woman that had enchanted him so.

He took her hands as she gazed around the courtyard, confusion and wonder passing over her features. “Welcome to Denerim.” He told her, grasping her fingers in his own.

“Denerim?” she blinked at him, shock in her eyes as her lips parted in a silent gasp. “Why here?”

He tilted his head at her, perplexed at the response. “Did you forget where I lived?” he teased. He turned on his heel abruptly, keeping hold of one of her hands and guiding her along behind him as he marched into the palace proper. “Come on, I’m pretty sure they’re waiting for us, and Cailan gets impossible if he’s kept waiting for longer than a few minutes. He was always one to rush ahead, I suppose. Father finds it _hilarious_ that _I'm_  the patient one. Don’t be nervous, by the way, I’m positive they are going to love you. Oh, and ignore Cailan if he says something smarmy, he can be awful when he isn’t the center of attention.” The words poured out of his mouth in a rush, but he didn’t seem to be able to stop them as they navigated the halls towards the dining room. Melody remained silent behind him, and he hoped that she wasn’t as nervous as he was. Truly she had nothing to worry about. She was the most captivating person he had ever met; she could not possibly leave a bad impression on them.

It _was_ strange for her to be so quiet, however, and so before he led her through the impressive doors and into their scheduled dinner he paused, turning to face her. He noticed for the first time how lovely she looked in the dress she wore, delicate evergreen satin draped around her shoulders and cascading down to the floor.

“You’re beautiful, you know that right?” he asked her, planting an impromptu kiss on her cheek. She stared at him in astonishment before glancing down at herself, one hand plucking at the hem of her skirt.

“Oh my.” She murmured, and her cheeks colored with a tinge of pink.

“Ready?” he whispered, keeping his voice low so as not to alert their hosts to their presence.

She took a deep breath and shrugged, half a smile playing across her thin lips. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” He lifted her hand to his lips and placed a kiss across her knuckles before he led them inside.

Within was a grand hall, lit with candles that lined the walls and ornate furniture. A large, intricately carved table sat in the center of the room, draped with a white linen cloth and adorned with glistening silver place settings. Seated at the table were his father and brother, two versions of the same person separated by time. Maric Theirin rested an elbow on the table, regarding the pair that had entered with curiosity. His blonde hair, now streaked with silver, was tied back behind his head, and he wore a dark red jacket that made the warm brown of his eyes stand out as he gazed at them. Cailan looked almost bored as he twirled a polished fork between his fingers, his short blonde hair painted golden by the flickering firelight. Alistair detected the tantalizing aroma of dinner wafting in from the kitchens nearby, and as his father and brother stood to welcome Melody he wondered if he had ever smelled anything so delicious in his life.

He moved to walk towards the table, but Melody halted midstride, a small gasp escaping her throat as she looked around the room in awe. He squeezed her fingers gently, giving her a look of encouragement, and this seemed to shake her of her hesitation. She followed him to her place, and Alistair cleared his throat theatrically.

“Father, Cailan, allow me to present to you Melody Cousland, of Highever. Melody, this is my father Maric, and my brother Cailan.”

Maric raised a brow at her as she smiled nervously. He looked as though he were about to speak, but Cailan beat him to the honor, ever the impatient child. “It is a privilege to finally meet you, Melody. Alistair talks about you almost incessantly.”

“Hey,” Alistair protested, “I…well, not _incessantly_.” He felt himself flush as her eyes flicked in his direction, but the humor there made him feel more at ease.

She turned towards Cailan, a polite smile plastered on her lips. “Thank you, although I’m sure we’ve met before somewhere.”

Cailan frowned before waving his hands, scoffing at the idea. “Nonsense.” He leaned forward across the table, lowering his voice a fraction. “If I had met someone as lovely as you, I surely would have snatched you up before Alistair could have.” He winked, and Alistair had to resist the urge to reach across the table and throttle him. He lost the fit of jealousy when he saw Melody narrow her eyes at Cailan, clearly not enticed by the flirtation. She leaned back in her chair, away from his leering brother, and Alistair enjoyed the slight offense he saw in Cailan’s eyes.

His father hadn’t spoken a word, and Alistair looked to the imposing figure of the king as he watched Melody with interest. His eyes seemed strangely intent as he studied her, confusion and surprise mingling with his standard good humor. It was strange to see the normally jovial man so serious, and Alistair wondered what had brought on the shift of mood. Certainly he couldn’t be so full of doubts about Melody already, could he?

Maric cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention with the easy authority he had gained from ruling the country for so many years. “Melody, was it?” he asked.

She watched him carefully, her eyes seeming to catalogue every piece of him, looking for some sign of weakness like a hawk hunting their prey. “Yes.” She responded finally, the word clipped and curt.

“Might I have a word with you privately?” the king asked, standing from his place at the table and gesturing to the far side of the room.

“Of course, _your majesty_.” She drew out the title with a sarcastic smile. She stood from her chair, and before Alistair rightly knew what was happening his father had led her to the other side of the room, outside the earshot of his two very curious sons. It was strange, but as he watched her walk away Alistair got the sensation that he had forgotten something important. He couldn’t fathom what it could be, but it worried at the edge of his mind like a mabari on an old shoe. He watched the pair start their muted conversation and wondered what it portended for his future. He swallowed thickly as icy stress settled in his chest, the sudden feeling that whatever they were talking about could not possibly be good sinking into his thoughts.

 

***

 

His eyes were different than the others. Maric – _King_ Maric – stood before her, and his eyes were not the same as the other puppets she had met in the fade. They contained life, they contained meaning, they contained a little glimpse of reality that should not be in this place. She could tell by the curiosity in their amber depths that something was certainly different about him, and about this place.

And oh, what a place it was. _This_ was certainly not what she had expected when she entered the final door in search of Alistair. She had prepared for all manner of strange things, even prepared for some kind of heartbreak after what she had seen with Wynne, but nothing could have readied her for Alistair living as the king’s son. She hadn’t anticipated such grandeur, nor had she expected that he would even remember her. Not only was she greeted with a man who knew who she was, but he had been _waiting_ for her, as though his entire illusion was dependent on her arrival. She wondered if that was the demon’s plan, to lure them both into the same trap…but no, her memories were as clear as ever, and she knew that she was looking at a shadow of a person when she watched Cailan flash an empty grin.

Maric regarded her intently, and she began to feel uncomfortable under his gaze. “Where did you come from?” he asked finally, the question heavy with unspoken meaning.

“I am not from here.” She evaded providing an answer of substance, waiting to see his reaction before she gave too much away. She looked back at Alistair, a lance of fear slicing through her heart, but he was chatting animatedly with the thing he thought was his brother, unconcerned about the conversation in the corner.

Maric seemed to expect this answer, and nodded sagely. “I could tell. You do not feel like the rest of this world.”

Then it was true, she thought. He was not a trick from the fade. But what did that make him? Surely he could not _actually_ be the legendary king. “Where did _you_ come from?”

The question hung in the air for a long moment as his chin sank into his chest, his eyes on the ground as he became lost in his memories. “I am not sure I remember any longer. Not here, never from here.” He murmured. He lifted his gaze, and his eyes rested on Alistair, filled with an unspeakable sadness that Melody could barely stand to see. “He does not belong here.”

“I came to find him.” She pursed her lips, chewing the inside of her cheek as she worried over what to say. “I won’t leave without him.”

The full intensity of his attention returned to her, a small smile tilting just the corner of his lips. It would have been easy to miss, were it not the most human thing she had seen in this series of nightmares. “You can go, I will not stop you.”

“Thank you.” She murmured, turning to move towards Alistair again. The relief that she felt over not having to fight their way out was like a brush of moisture across sun parched lips, and she nearly wanted to cry as she exhaled slowly, releasing the tension that had bundled between her shoulders.

Frail fingers wrapped around her elbow, gently, yet firm enough to keep her from leaving just yet. He looked at Alistair, not at her, and she could see a thousand regrets churning just under the surface of that unhappy gaze. “What will become of him?”

She turned to look at Alistair herself, her heart filling with a mix of complicated feelings that she didn’t know how to address in the midst of each new crisis they must face. He smiled at his false brother, and the joy that suffused his face was something she had not seen in him previously. This was his deepest desire, and she would have to take it from him and drag him back to a cruel world where none of this could possibly come true. She would kill a piece of him if she brought him home, but she knew that she had no other choice. The country, possibly the world, depended on the both of them, and she could never abandon him to the wiles of some demon, even if it did mean his existence could be easier. She only hoped that he would forgive her for it, someday.

“I can’t say, but I will protect him at any cost.” She said finally, wishing she could promise more to the melancholy king before her. She wished she could promise the world to the pair of them, but she didn’t have the strength to untie that many knots in fate’s twisted web.

She was surprised when Maric hugged her, pulling her into his arms awkwardly, as though he couldn’t remember how the action worked. She returned the embrace, feeling tears fill the edges of her eyes as she caught the way he smelled, so much like Alistair that it made her ache inside.

“Are you really his father?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper around the tension in her throat.

He pulled back, holding her at arm’s length as he nodded in response. “Funny that he should be protected by a warden.”

“How did you…why is that funny?” she stumbled over both questions, astounded that he had known what she was. Maric merely laughed, shaking his head as he returned to the table. His smile was wistful as he walked away, and she wondered what secrets the strange man still held in his desolate mind. She would always regret her need to leave before finding out more, before discovering if there was a way to save him along with his son, but the urgency of their situation drove her forward faster than she would have liked. She turned away from the would-be king, facing Alistair and preparing herself for what she must do.

_Maker, let him forgive me for taking this from him_ , she prayed, and with that she delayed no further.

 

***

 

As she walked back towards him there was a deep, resounding sadness in her expression that made his heart feel like it stuttered to a halt in his chest. The discussion she had with his father, whatever it had been, had left them both looking somber as they returned to the table. He felt the air rush out of his chest as his lungs constricted, the sense of foreboding he had been trying to shake for the last few moments bearing down on him like an unrelenting storm. Something was wrong. He could feel it, in the air pressed against his skin and the blood vibrating around his bones.

He stood, moving to pull the chair out for Melody like the gentleman he had been raised to be, but she grabbed his hands to stop him, her tiny fingers doing more to stay his progress than any other force in the world could have. He wanted to say something, to ask what was wrong, to reach out and brush the hair from her face and make her laugh, but all the words that he knew died before they left his lips. There was something in her eyes that had him frozen in place, waiting with bated breath to discover what it was she needed to tell him. He knew it would not be good, he knew it was as dire as the worst nightmares that had plagued him when he was little, but still he knew he must face it. If not for the sake of truth, if not for his own sake, then with all that he had he would endure it for her.

“I’m so sorry.” She said, and the shimmering tears in her eyes broke his heart a thousand times.

“What’s wrong?” his words were hushed, but still they echoed in the deadly quiet dining room.

She smiled, but it was weak and didn’t reach her eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“Always.” He replied without hesitation, never more sure of anything in his life.

“Alistair, this isn’t real. You need to remember where we are.” Her words were so soft that they barely made a sound, but they rattled against his ears like the clarion call of a bell.

“Not…real?” he blinked in confusion, and the look on her face was so _sad,_ he could hardly stand it. He wanted to hold her, to wrap her in his arms until that expression faded and never returned. He wanted to erase every sorrow she had ever had, to wipe it from her memory so that all she had left was laughter and light.

It was then that he remembered. He remembered seeing that grief in her eyes since the moment he had met her, the shadow that she carried in her heart just as familiar to him as the song in her laughter. He remembered just how much of their lives were buried in darkness, all the pain and suffering stacked across the days until it seemed too much for anyone to bear. He remembered holding her as she fell apart, and wishing he knew a way to heal her even as his own wounds bled until he felt empty and bereft.

As all the losses they had suffered came rushing back into his consciousness, the true horror of the situation before them started sinking in. With one simple waltz in the fade all of Alistair’s secrets had been laid bare before the last person he would ever want to know them. His mind whirred with panic as he tried to grasp on to some explanation, _any_ explanation, that he could provide to make this less humiliating for himself.

“Maker’s breath, I never meant for you to see…I was going to tell you, eventually, about the prince thing, but there was a blight, and we _have_ been busy, and I swear it was on my to do list…” he trailed off for a fraction of a second as the light caught the glistening fabric of her dress, and he felt his face heat as though he had placed it in a fire. He knew he was descending into solid madness from embarrassment, but how could he possibly undo the potential damage this illusion had done? “Oh Maker, and I’m sorry about the whole…dress thing, I promise I don’t spend all my time imagining you in dresses. Not that I spend my time imagining you _out_ of dresses either. What I mean to say is that I’m very, very, very sorry.” He took a deep breath into his now empty lungs as she watched him with an amused smile. “Please don’t leave me here.” He added meekly.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Don’t apologize. Come on, we have to go.” She tugged on his hands, pulling him towards the door at the other end of the room. He turned before they left, taking one last look at Maric, and he was surprised to see the reflection of reality in his wretched brown eyes. It was like looking across an impossible river of time to see a piece of himself, starting at him with heartbreak and regret. He stopped, his feet rooted to the spot as he tried to think of something, anything to say to the strange man that he had thought was only an illusion.

“Is he…real?”

Melody shrugged, and he could see the curiosity burning in her gaze as she looked back. “I don’t know, but he isn’t like the others.” She gave him a warm smile before squeezing his fingers, turning to open the door. With great reluctance he looked away, losing sight of the life that could never exist, losing sight of whatever it was he was leaving behind in that room, and followed Melody into the unknown future.

 

***

 

They emerged from the room of grief and remorse and into a long hallway, the opening behind them disappearing as it clicked shut with a small rush of air. At the end of the hall was a single door, unadorned with more than a small brass knob. There were no other exits, no branching pathways, just a straight shot to their destination, and Melody knew that they had made their way to the demon’s lair. The muffled echoes of the fade filled her ears, like wind filtered through layers of heavy water, and it felt strange compared to the warm normalcy of the room that they had just left.

She could feel the plethora of confusing emotions churning within Alistair through the simple contact of his hand. She hated herself for needing him too much to leave him behind. She felt selfish, despite all the reasons that she could list in favor of saving him other than her need to have him at her side. She could pretend it was for the sake of Ferelden, for the sake of defeating the archdemon and stopping this blight, but in truth it was because she couldn’t bear the thought of trying to do those things _alone_ , and even though they had made new friends, she felt like without him she wouldn’t have a soul that would truly understand her.

“Where are we?” he asked, shaking her from her self-deprecation.

She shrugged, swiping stray hair away from her face as she peered at the door waiting for them. “Somewhere in the fade. The others should be waiting for us through that door.”

He bit his lip and looked away, and she waited patiently for whatever question he was going to ask. “Was I…was I the _only_ one who fell for it?”

She rolled her eyes, thinking of her own experiences and wishing she could erase them from her mind. “Hardly. Morrigan was the only one who saw through the trick on her own.”

Alistair groaned, his shoulders slumping as he brought a hand up to cover his face. “Of _course_ Morrigan saw through it. I’ll _never_ hear the end of it.”

The laughter bubbled out of her throat of its own accord, but she took heart at his jest and the realization that she had saved them all from the demon’s clutches. Now all that was left was to ensure that the demon could do no further harm to anyone else, and to do that they would need to walk through that door at the end of the hall.

It was Alistair that urged them forward this time, taking long strides towards the obvious goal. They kept their fingers locked together until they reached the door, and shared a smile before he took the handle and turned, pushing through so they could see the chamber on the other side. It was a vast, empty space, with heavy fog drifting through the air and clogging their vision. The area was lit, but she could see no light source as she looked around the clearing, everything seeming to pulse and glow without actually emitting any light. As she stared, the smoky veil seemed to part, and she could see Morrigan, Leliana, and Wynne standing together, waiting for the arrival of the remaining members of their team.

She had only a moment to smirk before Leliana had barreled into her, dragging her into a massive embrace that almost repaired the damage done to their minds in the fade with its exuberance. Wynne was not long to follow, although her hold was far more dignified, while Morrigan kept her distance, contenting herself with a shared smile.

“So, Alistair,” Morrigan began, her grin becoming catlike and predatory, “Did you dream you were a dog so that you could feel smart for a change?”

Alistair turned bright crimson and glowered at the witch. “ _No_. Did _you_ dream you were an actual person with a soul?”

“Oh, woe is me, the Templar thinks the mage is evil. How unexpected.” Morrigan feigned shock, but the sarcasm dripping from her voice was venomous enough to kill a snake.

Alistair took a step towards her, his finger raised in protest. “I am _not_ a Templar –”

“ _So loud_.” The voice rumbled through their bones, low and grating as it carried across the clearing to them. _“It must take so much effort to be so loud_.”

Their weapons were drawn in a heartbeat as the sloth demon stepped forward from the mist, its hulking form just as grotesque as it had been in the tower. Its flesh seemed to be in a constant state of flux and ruin, melting and shifting around whatever bones and sinew held it upright. Its eyes, bright against the tawny skin, were bloodshot and glistening with monotony. Melody held tight to the daggers in her hands, ready to face the foul creature and exact revenge for her friends, making it pay for what it had put them through.

“ _Why were you unhappy?”_ it asked, every word a slow drawl that seemed to spiral into eternity. “ _Why did you go through all the trouble to ruin their happiness?”_ it seemed genuinely curious as it spoke to her, confused by her actions.

“It wasn’t real, and no one should have to live a lie.” She said, although part of her felt like it was untrue. Part of her wanted to go back to the world where her father was alive, or to live in the land where Alistair was carefree and happy, to let Wynne love her son and Leliana have peace. There was something pure about that kind of an end, something her tired mind longed to embrace, wanting only to fall into a place where she would no longer have to feel the gripping loneliness that overtook her in the bitter midnight. Too much of her knew the cost, however, and so she clenched her jaw and kept silent as the demon stared her down.

“ _Let me try again. I promise to do better. I can do more, so much more._ ” it vowed. Their stony silence was all the refusal it required, and she could see the anger flare up inside its malformed face. “ _So be it._ ”

The demon raised its lumbering arms above its head and drew forth a great wave of magic, energy coalescing around its fingers before it sent the bolt flying in Melody’s direction. It was faster than she had anticipated, and would have caught her in the chest, had Alistair not acted with amazing speed, darting in front of her and blocking the blow with his shining shield. The magic crashed against the surface and dissipated, the air charged with the lingering power as he placed one hand on the small of her back, keeping them both steady with one minor point of contact. She gave him a smile of thanks, the only gratitude for which they had time to spare. Their eyes met and they shared a moment of strength, a silent promise of victory, before she was dancing around the edge of his shield and racing towards the demon on quick feet that shook with each impact against the solid stone.

She could feel Morrigan’s familiar magic wrapping around her, clinging to the outside of her skin and enveloping her in formidable power. She saw, from the corner of her gaze, her blades start to glow with red energy, a molten fire coming from within to set the metal alight. The demon was eyeing her intently, preparing to receive her attack, and she wondered if she would be successful even as she became the blazing glory that Morrigan made her.

Leliana’s arrows peppered the demon’s side, and it turned with a howl of furious pain towards the source of the shock. She nocked and released arrow after arrow, all of them finding their mark in the demon’s flesh. Melody felt another spell slip around the edges of the first, a barrier of protection buzzing against the searing fire, and she knew Wynne had done her part to ensure this blow would land. She glanced to the side and saw Alistair matching her stride, bearing down on their enemy with as much force as she was, and she redoubled her charge, keeping pace with the taller warden so that they could reach their target together.

She slid past the demon’s backside when she was close enough, bending so she could drag her burning blades across its thick legs, parting the marred flesh and charring the edges of the wounds. It roared in agony as it sank forward onto its knees, but the cry was cut short as Alistair drove his sword through the back of its skull, thrusting until the bloodied steel broke through the other side. It made a horrible moan as Alistair jerked his blade free, the demon falling to the ground as fire consumed its body and devoured its life.

Melody blinked, and when her lashes parted once more she was no longer in the fade, the eerie clearing nothing but a tattered memory already fading from her mind. Before them was the twitching body of the sloth demon, shuddering a final time before it dissolved into a pool of black sludge that oozed across the corrupted ground. The echoing heartbeat of the strange remnants of possession rattled around the empty tower chamber, and she saw the others breathings sighs of relief to be back in the substantial world once more.

“Well…that was…something.” Leliana said brightly, giving the group a smile meant to drive the lingering shadows from their minds.

“We need to hurry. We should try to get to the top of the tower before those fools summon anything else they haven’t the wit to handle.” Wynne said, standing tall to try and hide the fact that she was leaning heavily against her staff.

Morrigan breathed a laugh through her nose. “From what we have seen, I would wager they haven’t the wit to handle anything.”

“It appears we might actually agree on something, Morrigan.” Wynne gave the witch a lopsided grin as she blinked in surprise.

“Wonders never cease.” She replied, rolling her eyes expressively.

Melody drew in a long, arduous breath, her daggers feeling heavy in her hands. “Come on, let’s finish what we started.”

As she climbed the stairs to the next level in the tower her limbs felt weighted with lead, heavier than she could possibly imagine, and yet somehow she still placed one foot in front of the other. She could feel the others looking to her for guidance, and it left a pit in the middle of her stomach as she tried to pull enough strength to provide it to them. She didn’t know what she would find up there, but she hoped that she would have the ability to take care of it.


	12. Mages are People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen is rescued and the tower is saved.

The shimmering orange light pulsing from the barrier hurt his eyes, burning them even though it was dimmer than any candle he had ever seen. The room was filled with the sickly glow, and it distorted the shadows, drawing them longer than they should have been across the faces of the people before him. Cullen closed his eyes, trying to block out the image, wanting nothing more than to lose his vision entirely so that it could never be turned against him again. He knew that they weren't real, knew that it was yet another artifice. His world had been nothing but lies and illusion for too long, and he knew better than to trust the tableau spread out before him. Maker, why was this happening? Why wouldn't they just kill him and grant him peace?

His body was exhausted. The constant fluctuations brought on by the desire demon were breaking him down until he could do nothing but kneel and pray, the faithful chants feeling more hollow the longer he went without respite. He just wanted to rest, to close his eyes and never open them again, but the demons, the blood mages, they would not allow it. He could see the glee etched in their warped faces as they pushed him to his limits, past his limits, trying to break him down for no other reason than the armor he wore. Every time he thought that he might slip into the soft darkness of oblivion something tugged him back, some new trick, some new torture. He had watched every woman he had ever known be paraded before him, first as temptation and then, when he failed to submit, as _punishment_. He had been forced into arousal with visions that made him sick, and he felt like his own body had betrayed him, his very flesh giving in despite how revolting he found the depravity.

Kind words, pitying eyes, a drink of water handed to him through the barrier he himself could not breach. He stared, blinking at the group before him, surprised that they were still there. The visions had never stayed when he shut his eyes and prayed. They had always changed, always flitting to something else as the demon tried to find something to tear down the walls of his faith and destroy him.

“You...you're still there. Why are you still there?” his voice was hoarse, barely a whisper as his chapped lips moved around the strange-feeling words. Speech seemed foreign to him, just as the screams of his friends had seemed outlandish days ago, when all of this had begun.

“He's been up here for who knows how long, tortured by these vile things.” The man in heavy plate was speaking to the woman that they all seemed to defer to. Cullen looked at her, seeing her clearly for the first time. She was a small, redheaded girl in wrapped, leather armor dyed grey. She looked almost regal with the way she carried herself, like moving through this despondent tower was the most natural thing to her, like she could command armies and respect by just walking across the room.

Her eyes took in his sorry state, emeralds of compassion shining against the shadows filling the room. “Are you alright?” her voice was soft, lulling some of the tension from his muscles with the very rhythm to her speech, which immediately made him suspicious. This was some new trick, it had to be. Another deception crafted by the black hearts of the mages, to lure him into complacency.

“Who are you?” he rasped, his distrust oozing out of the question, like mire from a desolate bog. He felt like he would infect all that he came near with his tainted perspective, a man made like darkspawn by the twisting of his fragile mind.

“I am Melody, of the grey wardens.” she nodded politely to him before she twisted her head, addressing the pair of women standing behind her. “Is there any way we can get him out of there?” Cullen was surprised to recognize Wynne, an enchanter from the Circle before it had become corrupted, but he had never met the second one. He took note of the haughty way she stood, and by the staff clutched in her slender fingers he knew her for the mage that she was. He bristled slightly, fear piercing his heart, for he knew of no circle mage with that air of confidence. An apostate coming into their midst could complicate matters. He considered trying to do something about it, briefly, but in the end he knew there was nothing he could do. He had been helpless to stop the mages that _had_ been under his charge, and he would be of little more use against one who could know all manner of forbidden spells. It was best to focus on what _could_ be done, and he could address the possible danger the witch might pose at another time.

“No! If you are real and you are here, don't waste time on me.” he choked on his speech and coughed violently, his lungs rejecting the vehemence of his plea. He was handed more water from another redheaded woman with them, her sweet features distorted by the frown of concern on her face. “Uldred, you must kill him. Kill them all!” he told her urgently. _His_ life was inconsequential. His life was already ruined, his mind forever scarred by the hideous things that he had been made to endure. But Uldred was in just the next room, and if this warden had traversed the nightmares of the tower to get this far, perhaps she could handle what lay beyond. Cullen was a lost cause, but he could lay his heart to rest knowing that Uldred, that all the mages responsible for this, would be sent to the void at his side.

“I will stop the blood mages.” she assured him, her tone full of placation and sympathy. That wasn’t what he was looking for, however. Killing the blood mages, yes, that was necessary. But none of the mages in the tower deserved to live. None of them deserved to walk out of there alive. Each person who had called those monsters comrade deserved to be struck down, as violently and brutally as the visions he had seen promised. They were all guilty, they were all corrupt, and they would all go down with this ship together.

“You must kill everyone up there. No one can live.” His anger seethed through him like his blood was on fire, tempered in the inferno of a dragon’s breath. The mages must be purged, must be struck from this plane of existence, their corruption too foul to be allowed to continue. Cullen had seen what magic could create, and he could not allow it to stand.

Melody’s eyes flashed sharply, her cheeks coloring in anger. “I will not harm innocents.”

Her compassion would destroy them all, he thought. “They are mages, none are innocent.” he snarled at her, his hatred of the mages so consuming that he was reduced to a beast, single minded revenge the only thing on his chaotic mind. Never again could he look on those touched by the fade and feel safe, never would he feel the sympathy that he used to. His soft heart had been one of the things that had led to this disaster. Compassion had earned him torture; comfort had earned the other mages death. There was no more room for either in this changed world that he now lived in.

The apostate was regarding Cullen with a cold expression. “The templar’s mind has been bent beyond reasoning. I see no motive to persist in this pointless cajoling.”

“Morrigan, we can debate the reasons why later, but for now, if you wish to brood, could you please do so _quietly?"_  Melody snapped, strangely carrying a small smirk on her lips. Morrigan scowled at her but listened, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Melody reverted her attention back to Cullen, the gentleness returning to her expression as though she wore two faces to deal with the different people. “What is your name, ser?”

“Cullen.” he responded without thinking, reacting to her commanding presence automatically, a soldier still, even in his shattered state.

“Cullen, we are going to go stop the blood mages and come back to take you down the tower. Can you hold on until then?” her voice was so soothing that it was hard not to listen to her, hard not to believe in what she promised, no matter how impossible it seemed.

“I can endure, but please, I beg you, let no one in that room live. The risks are not worth-”

“Everyone is worth risk.” she said the statement with an air of finality, and he hung his head, defeat settling back into his bones as his hope leeched out of him. He could be of no help to them, and he could see that he would never convince her. She had not seen what he had seen, so she could not possibly understand. Maybe that was for the best, for he would not wish what had happened to him onto anyone. Maybe he was too jaded to see the light at the end of the long tunnel. Or maybe they were all doomed by this bright eyed warden and her will to champion the unjust.

 

***

 

She was almost of a mind to agree with the crazed Templar, a fact which left Morrigan in a sour mood as they ascended the final flight of stairs. It was a fool’s errand to bother saving these mewling babes, mages who could not fight off the dangers lurking just on the other side of their powers. They were imbeciles, grasping at things they couldn’t be bothered to understand, and there were better tasks to tend to besides cleaning up the mess that these children had made.

She was certain, as she always ways of anything she thought, that they would walk in the room and be forced to leave none alive. Better to kill them swiftly and be done with it, better to leave no stone left unturned so that there would not be a remnant of failure to corrupt what they left behind. This would be a slaughter, like most of their upward journey had been, and it would serve only to leave a long, lurid mark across their leader’s too bright soul.

And yet, as with many things that were yet to come, Morrigan would come to find her own certainty did not mean so much in the face of Melody Cousland’s resolve.

The room was banked in shadows that shifted as though they were alive, dark clouds of overused magic clinging to the air and sticking in their lungs. She could feel the demons pressing against the veil all around them, whispering to her as she walked within, pleading for her attention and her use. A drop of blood, just a drop of blood, and in return they promised power untold. Morrigan had little need of _their_ power, however, and she summoned her will to block their reaching presence. She would not make the same mistakes these novices had.

Melody walked across the room with footfalls that were filled with anger and purpose. She had been put through much since those doors all those floors ago had snapped shut behind them. She had been nearly killed, dragged through the fade, and bore witness to all manner of horrors that would make a common noble shrink in terror. All it seemed to accomplish with her, however, was to fuel her inner fires, building them up until she entered this shadow wrought room and blinded the poor souls trapped within.

It was shocking to see actual survivors. Morrigan knew immediately they were innocents by the wide eyed fear etched across their faces, and by the unbroken layer of skin on their arms. Uldred circled them like a carrion king, wrists weeping ruby rivers that soaked into his dark robes. He turned and sneered as their party entered, observing Melody and seeing a child leading nothing more than miscreants. He looked over her, looked through her. His false and tenuous hold on his power blinded him to what stood before him, and Morrigan smiled to herself, for she knew that it would be his greatest mistake.

“The Templars send a child to do what they could not, I see.” Uldred’s voice was oily like polluted rain, slipping around the words and leaving stains in their ears. “Gregoir must be growing desperate.”

“ _Irving!"_  Wynne’s desperate voice cut through the conversation as she clasped her hands over her mouth, her eyes on one of the prone figures huddled in the center of the room. She took a step towards him, but one of the other blood mages blocked her approach, holding his red splattered hand out as a brazen threat.

“Run…” Irving mumbled the warning, his head lolling to the side, his consciousness slipping in and out of the present.

“Let them go.” Melody ordered. Her voice was lower than Morrigan had ever heard, a growl that carried the feral promise of ill tiding should he choose to disobey. It was surprising, and impressive. She had feared the kind hearted girl would waste her compassion on these cretins, but it seemed she had suffered enough to have decided their fate already.

“Why would I do that?” Uldred laughed, a high whine of air that bore little joy in its rhythm. “I own this tower. What could you possibly offer me in its place?”

Morrigan laughed herself, unable to abstain after his ridiculous statement. “You own the bars of your cage, how very prosperous. Your opulence knows no bounds, truly.” She didn’t know if it was gratifying or irritating that Alistair snorted a laugh at her remark, but the moment was quickly killed as Melody shot them both a steely glance of reproach.

“Release them. Surrender. Turn yourself into the Templars. Do this, and I might make the case that they shouldn’t kill you on sight.” Melody told them, her words tight and clipped. Morrigan could see her preparing for the refusal already, every muscle in her body tensing or relaxing in anticipation of drawing her blades. She offered them the olive branch, but she was no simpleton, and knew they would spurn her gift. It was unexpected how well she was handling the situation. The mantle of leadership was not so ill fitting to her shoulders after all, it seemed. The tempered steel Morrigan wished to make her had already been there, hiding under the layers of humanity that she clung to through the darkness. She was the shining light glinting off the edge of a blade, the glow of a fire before it consumed whatever stood in its way.

Uldred shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but that was as far as he ever got. She was on him like lightning, swift and deadly and furious, and in the blink of an eye his middle had been sliced nearly in two. The others drew their weapons with haste, Morrigan tearing into the fade to summon her magic to help. Uldred was stronger than he looked, and he lived through the blow, stumbling from her reach and allowing his assistants to draw their attention. He laughed maniacally as he bathed in the blood spilling from his wounds, and Morrigan knew it was a mistake to have let him survive the first blow.

They would never know if he intended to allow the demon to take him, or was merely trying to summon additional power, but the result was the same no matter his motivations. Uldred became no more as he mutated into the hulking pride demon, violet electricity dancing along the spiny ridges of bone now jutting out from his skin. It was then that the fight began in earnest.

And it was mere moments later when it was finished, every blood mage and demon cut down by a rogue with little patience for their folly. Melody had made short work of the wayward mages, and by the time the demon had realized it was outmatched she had driven her daggers so deeply into its skull that parts of the hilts were lodged between the shattered scales. The dust and lingering mana settled around them, and it was remarkable to note not one of the hostages had been harmed.

Wynne rushed to Irving’s side, lifting him from the ground. The man was weak, deep bruises of exhaustion sagging beneath his eyes, and marks of resistance marring his body. He would bear the scars of this tribulation for the rest of his limited years, though Morrigan had little pity for him. By buying into the system the chantry imposed upon them, they had become complicit in their own downfall. To be free one had to fight for it, and these sorry souls had not the wherewithal to do so. _She_ would shed no tears for their fate, but she was certain Melody would, and she was not sure anymore if she detested that or admired it.

 

***

 

Cullen watched them go, certain it would be the last time he would see them. She was too kind, and the world too violent, and the possibility that she could come back out of that room alive seemed slim at best. He could hear the battle being waged just beyond the doors, and within his glowing prison he felt worse than useless. He should be in there, ensuring that this matter was handled properly. He should be doing something, anything, to help the situation. Instead, he sat inside his cage, half mad from his trials and ashamed at how afraid he was that they might not be over. He couldn't even muster the strength to pray any longer, his eyes staring listlessly at the door, waiting for the impossible return of the regal grey warden.

He was awestruck when he saw the party emerge, covered in gore but none the worse for wear, with Grand Enchanter Irving stumbling along after them. The witch cast him a smug glance, and with a smirk and simple flick of her wrist she sent a shock of magic rippling over the barrier, dispelling it as though it were no stronger than a soap bubble. The sudden freedom was overwhelming, and as he drew in air that did not smell of magic, he sank to his knees, looking reverently at the strange team that had saved him. It did not seem possible, yet here they stood, the demonic presence defeated. The limping mages that followed her out looked as surprised as Cullen felt, and it was difficult to summon the same fear that he had harbored moments ago when he gazed upon the wounded survivors.

“Alistair, will you help him down? We need to get to Gregoir immediately, before things get worse.” Melody asked the man in armor, indicating Cullen with a gesture. Alistair nodded at her and offered Cullen a steady hand up as the rest of the group moved towards the stairs. Cullen accepted the assistance, and he gripped the man’s hand to rise to his feet. His body was weaker than he had anticipated, and he nearly fell back down as a wave of dizziness sent the world tilting in unexpected directions, but with the help of the blonde warrior he was able to remain upright. It took him several moments, and several more deep breaths, but eventually he was able to stand on his own, albeit with legs as shaky as a newborn halla’s.

Alistair clapped a bracing hand on his shoulder. “You're going to be alright.”

Cullen wanted to tell him he doubted that very much, that he knew he would never actually be alright again, not after what he had been through. The man could have no concept of what that demon had done to him, however, so Cullen just let the silence hang between them as they made their way down to the bottom of the tower.

At the base he argued with them, vehemently, feeling ungrateful the entire time. Gregoir trusted this woman who traveled with strange mages when she assured him the tower was secure, that there was no need for the right of annulment. Cullen paced, ranting and raving, insisting that the entire place must be purged. It didn’t matter how unthreatening the mages appeared, it didn’t matter that the abominations had been defeated. That tower held the memories of what he had endured, and he wanted everyone and everything in it to burn to the ground. In the deepest, quietest part of his mind he wasn't sure if what he was doing was the right thing, if his purpose was not driven by vengeance rather than the safety of others. It didn't matter at the moment, however. He just needed them to listen to him.

His words fell on deaf ears. Melody was the hero of the day, and so hers was the account that they would trust. She had faced the demons and the mages with unwavering resolve, and she had done exactly what she had promised she would. This girl would never understand the evil that could slip through from her insistence on compassion, but it was her word against his, and the Templar that had failed to save even one other person was not worthy of enough respect to acknowledge. In the end he relented, because he had no other choice, and stormed off to brood over everything that had been lost.

He was surprised when Melody and Alistair followed him a short while later. He stood up straighter as they approached, feeling the need to be more in control of himself because of their presence. Something about them sent tendrils of respect winding through his mind, despite his disapproval of their choices.

“Are you going to be alright?” Melody asked him. It was not pity in her eyes this time, and for that Cullen was eternally grateful. She was soft, calming, but not pitying. He saw the hints of shadows in her eyes, of sorrow that she herself must have known. It was something that he could recognize in her after what he had been through. They were kindred spirits to him, in a way. They had known the touch of things that would haunt them forever, just as he had. It did not make him understand their empathy, but it helped him to feel connected to them in a different way, at least.

“I will not disobey orders, no matter how much I disagree.” he told her flatly.

“I'm pretty sure that's not what she asked.” Alistair quipped, but his tone was soft and understanding. Cullen tensed, unsure of what to say. He fidgeted with his gloves for a moment, wishing he had words to express anything other than anger right now. Anger didn’t feel right for the moment, but neither did apology or dismissal, so he opted for silence and hesitation.

Finally, Melody sighed, looking defeated as she shook her head. “Look, I know you're angry right now, and you won't listen to me, and maybe these words will never actually sink in, but I am going to say them anyways.” She crossed her arms and watched him for a moment, her eyes demanding his attention with an authority that seemed otherworldly. “Terrible things happen. People do terrible things, but _mages_ are not terrible. They are not weapons, they are not unnatural, and they are not evil. Mages are people. People who can succeed and fail, live and love, persevere and falter. I hope someday you can let go of what happened to you here and see that again.”

Cullen had no words for her. She was too naive, too kindhearted, despite her obvious strength. Mages may be people, but when they caused this much devastation how could anyone justify allowing them to continue unchecked? How could he justify ever treating a mage as anything other than a weapon from now on?

His surprise at her sudden embrace drove the dark thoughts from his mind. It was innocent, completely chaste and pure, and over in a second. After that she walked away, leaving Alistair and himself gazing after her in wonder.

“You should listen to her, you know.” Alistair drawled.

“How can you believe what she says? After seeing what happened here?” Cullen's voice was strangled. His anger was receding; water being drawn back into the raging sea after the wave had left its devastation. Without it he felt empty, broken, something that had been scraped clean of everything that had made him a person. Every memory he was left with filled him with guilt, with shame, with tears burning behind his eyes that refused to fall.

Alistair snorted in amusement, startling him once more. “Travel with her for a couple weeks and you'd believe her if she told you the sky was purple and Qunari were kittens.” Alistair left him then, strolling over to rejoin his companions as they talked amongst themselves.

Cullen was confused about these people, about who they were, and how they could exist in a world gone mad. He wasn't sure if he could ever truly believe what she had told him, but he was positive that he would never forget it.


	13. Shut Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things move forward a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the update is a bit late, my jaw decided to explode or something on Monday and I have been on some hefty painkillers since then. (everyone please send love to Kmandergirl for taking my sorry ass to the doctor). Anyways, I think I am happy with this chapter now, hopefully you guys are too, and with any luck the regularly spaced updates will resume now. :)

The night air was cold, and the stars hung in the sky like little flakes of ice suspended in the blackness above. Alistair watched in awe as Melody lay on her back, gazing up at the endless glittering vista with Morrigan, the girls shoulder to shoulder as they had their nightly discussion. He was surprised that Morrigan had actually deigned to lay in the earthy grass, the two of them arguing incessantly over the merits of compassion, just as Melody had promised when they were in the tower. He marveled at how she had actually gotten Morrigan to seem like a person, despite all evidence that he had seen that pointed to her being nothing short of evil incarnate. Alistair had written her off as an unrepentant bitch from the moment they had met her, but Melody hadn't. She had been patient, had sat through Morrigan's fits of hateful speech, endured her condescending nature. She had met her snarky comments with just as many of her own, and somehow, as if out of the Void, Morrigan had grown to respect Melody. As the friendship between the unlikely pair blossomed, Morrigan had been less abrasive to all of them, as if the lectures and debates that she had with their warden leader had actually changed her outlook. _She was still a bitch though_ , he thought, although he was chagrined to note the internal comment made him feel a modicum of guilt. There was something about the fact that Melody had accepted her that made her more palatable in general, although he would steadfastly refuse to admit such a thing out loud. She might be a vicious shrew, but she was _their_ vicious shrew, and that had to count for something.

Right now she seemed less like a witch bent on destroying him and more like just another girl. As she rested with Melody they were like two sides of a strange coin, two innocent young women looking at the stars. He liked to imagine that they weren't discussing the merits of whether or not Templars were evil, or whether or not circle mages were useless. He liked to think that they were simply discussing cute boys that they had met in their village, or perhaps what things their mothers had done to send them slamming the doors to their rooms. They were all young enough that they should be in some little town, worrying about shirking chores and farm animals rather than chasing demons in mage towers and fighting darkspawn. They had only just grown out of adolescence, and yet the world was demanding so much from them. It wasn’t fair that Melody had no mother to be cross with, no cute boys to admire, and no place to call home. It also wasn’t fair that Morrigan had been shoved into this mess by her own mother, or that she was raised in the middle of nowhere without another soul to call friend. He didn’t like to dwell on it often, but it also wasn’t fair that he had grown up an outcast from everywhere he should have belonged, and that what little place he had carved for himself in the world had been whittled away by the tempestuous tides of fate.

Morrigan got up and dusted herself off, walking away from Melody after a wave goodbye. She gave Alistair a brief smile in greeting before she seemed to think better of the action, pausing on her way past to kick his shin with the heel of her boot. He yelped and rubbed the sore spot while shooting her an icy glare, regretting every last pleasant thing he had thought about her in the last few moments. Morrigan retired to her tent, the debate between the girls laid to rest for the evening. He knew both of them well enough by now to know that no debate between the two was ever truly over, as both seemed determined to convince the other of the error of their thinking. Silence settled over the campsite now that the conversation had halted, and Alistair could clearly hear the snaps of logs giving way to the fire, and the gentle calls of the crickets hiding in the brush.

Melody sat up, her hair curling like a waterfall of rubies down her back, and she turned to catch him watching her. She smiled, her lips a perfect curve as her cheekbones rose, making her eyes crinkle at the corners, and in the dying light she looked like the essence of warmth, made whole and real. She waved him over, and he could feel his blush flood across the bridge of his nose, unable to halt the rush of blood as his eyes locked with hers. He hoped the night air would cool his cheeks before she noticed, although he wasn’t certain if she truly minded anymore at this point.

They hadn’t discussed what had happened in the tower, but those moments in the fade had been more than just an illusion that he had escaped from. She had slipped through a door and walked into his innermost secrets, and now she held all the little truths he hid from others in the palm of her hands. They had shared something, something far more intimate than he had ever intended, and he had yet to find the words to properly apologize for piling more things into her lap. He had waited for her to take him aside, to give him a stern talk to explain why everything about that sequence of events had been inappropriate. At the very least, he had expected to be treated differently, perhaps being forced to watch as she created a divide between them that he could not cross. Yet neither of those things had happened. She still greeted him each morning with a bright smile and cheery reception, and she still wished him a good night each evening as the cold finally suffocated the remnants of the fire. He wasn’t sure how to interpret the normalcy, and so he kept his mouth shut on the matter, although it did little to ease his nerves. Avoiding the issue seemed to make it bigger and more threatening every day, but he didn’t dare break the uneasy bond that was spread out between them. He felt as though he were balancing at the edges of a spider web, and if he moved too quickly in any direction all the gossamer threads would snap, and he would be left hanging in the void on his own.

He walked over to her, counting his footsteps as his heart pounded a strange rhythm against his ribs. The light in her eyes as she looked up at him left him unable to think, unable to breathe, and he tried to gather his thoughts as he sat next to her in the damp grass. The wind whispered to the trees as the stars watched the leaves dance, and the night carried the heavy scent of promises he couldn’t quite understand. His tongue felt heavy against the back of his throat, and he tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make him look foolish. It was a hopeless endeavor, however, as she had stolen all the words from his head with the way her lips tilted as she looked at him.

“Enjoying the view?” she asked, those damnably attractive lips still lifted in a smirk. Embarrassment flooded through him as he realized that he had been staring at her like a simpleton while his pulse ran away with his thoughts.

“I...” he paused for a second, trying to discover some hidden corner in his mind where all his words were buried. He wanted to say something genuine, to say something that would make that light in her eyes burn even brighter, but he didn’t have the ability describe anything he was feeling. He was lost, adrift in the sea that she filled with her laughter, and he couldn’t manage to express how he never wanted to be found again. In the end, he fell back on humor, his tongue spinning the joke as though it were memorized, a dullard bird spouting the only thing it knew, “Just making sure you weren't attacked by a cricket or something. Wouldn't want you to have to take on something taller than you all by yourself.”

He was gratified when she smacked him across his shoulder, fury emanating from her tiny frame like rippling waves of heat. “You are a horrible person and you should feel bad.” she sighed in exasperation, crossing her arms with a glare. He smiled at her, putting his hands up in defeat and bowing his head to acquiesce. “Besides,” she continued, “we both know I could have you flat on your back in a minute, so don't pretend I need to be _tall_ to fight.”

“You wouldn't even have to fight me for that.” it was out of his mouth so fast he couldn't do anything to stop it, and he turned his head to stare with vigor at the ground in front of him, horror overtaking him in slow, creeping strides. Maker, what had he just said? Had those words really come out of him? He froze, his cheeks discovering a new level of heat as he blushed what was surely a shade of red to rival her hair, wishing without any real hope that he hadn't said that out loud. He could feel her watching him, however, and knew he had really, truly, _actually_ just said that. To _her_. He was apparently the king of idiots, the lord of the fools, and the captain of what was about to be a sinking ship of stupidity.

He waited for her to slap him, or draw her daggers and gut him, or summon Morrigan to set him on fire, but the attack he deserved never came. He risked a peek at her face, trying to gauge her reaction, and was completely distracted by the expression in her gaze. She looked like a spark catching against dry tinder, like a star shooting across the sky in a burst of light, like the tides of the sea churning with the pull of the silver moon. A thousand questions tumbled around in his head, each one more confounding than the last. What were her lips parted for? Why was there color to her cheeks? Why were all of the muscles in his body contracting with the need to grab her in his arms and...

Alistair cleared his throat, silently wishing the archdemon would fly down from the mountain and snatch him up in its jaws. “Yes, well, I'm just going to get up and leave now and go stand over there until all the blushing stops...you know, just to be safe.” he went to move, but she put her hand on his shoulder, keeping him from lifting himself up and making his escape. He froze like a Fennec fox catching the scent of a bear, all the blood rushing out of his face as he braced for her anger, his eyes on everything but her and what was sure to be the scowl on her face. “Oh Maker, I've offended you. Just forget it ever happened, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-”

“Alistair.” her voice was demanding, and he summoned all the courage he could muster to look at her.

“Yes?” he squawked, and he felt like whatever dignity he had left, however small it had been in the first place, had just been lobbed into the dreary woods beyond their camp.

“Shut up.” she pulled his collar, dragging him forward, and that was when Alistair’s brain ceased comprehending the moment.

Her lips were soft and delicious as they met his, sending fire all over his entire body, a thousand pinpricks blazing into a roaring chaos that destroyed him just as it remade him. He wrapped his arms around her, more out of surprise than anything, but when he did she sank into him, her lips parting as their tongues collided, gently moving together as though they were meant to. A soft groan welled up from his chest, delight given sound that he could neither suppress nor control, every inch of him made of perfect fire that would swallow him in beautiful, tremendous glory. Her hand found its way up the back of his neck, her fingers curling into his hair and sending a shiver of energy down his spine, and he thought he might actually lose his mind. He would descend into madness, and happily so, driven insane by something that was so amazing he could not fathom its existence.

If his mind were a lake, placid a calm a moment before, then kissing her had summoned a maelstrom that churned the waters and whipped winds around, sending him reeling as lightning forked across his heart. He toppled backwards, lying flat on the ground as her tongue danced numbers against his, the hammering in his chest like thunder shaking his very bones. They adjusted, laying side by side, his arms snaking up and down her back, seeking to pull her closer, to feel her breath as it filled her lungs. He longed to move them all across her entire body, but fear kept him confined to safer areas. He did not know how to navigate this situation, he did not know what was expected and what was too much. If he let himself, he would devour her. He would take every piece of her that she offered until there was nothing left, stealing her away until the fire consumed them both.

She pulled back from him, still wrapped up in his arms, and he was reminded forcefully of the night a few weeks ago that they had spent just holding each other while she cried. There were no tears in her eyes tonight, however. Just an overly bright smile that Alistair swore could light the world on fire just as easily as it lit him. He smiled down at her, and still he had no words. The whole world could fall apart, the darkspawn swarming over the hill to swallow them all, and even in the midst of that nightmare he didn’t think it would be enough to make him stop smiling. They had all lost almost everything they had ever had, and yet in this moment he felt wealthier than he had ever been. He didn't care if it was crazy, or if he really had gone mad. This woman was perfection incarnate, and for whatever reason she was in his arms, looking at him like she adored him. Nothing could take that truth from him, and nothing could break the thread of happiness wrapping around his heart.

 

***

 

Melody adored this man. How was it that when the entire world was falling down around them, all she had to do was look into his eyes to feel grounded again, to feel like everything was going to be okay? His blush had more power over her than anything had a right to, but Maker forgive her, she would allow herself to be swayed by him for the rest of her life. She was an orphan, a Warden, the leader of a group that was up against impossible odds, and a rogue who could kill a man with the flick of her wrist, but she forgot all of that when he smiled at her. She would tear down the world to be with him, and the thought scared her more than a little.

Right now she wasn't scared, however. She was tingling from head to toe, warm and happy and _safe_. He looked into her eyes like she was the most precious thing in the universe, and it made her heart sing harmonies too sweet to be heard by ear. “You have no idea how badly I have wanted to do that.” she smirked at him, and was very gratified by the deep blush that spread across his face.

“Maker's breath woman, you'll give me a heart attack if you keep making my heart dance like that.” he didn't meet her eyes, darting them away to stare at the ground, fear swimming in the amber honey. She kissed him again, lightly delivering an ounce of courage to his lips. How could he not see how much he owned her? How could he not know that he could demand anything of her, and she would comply with a blissful smile across her face?

She jabbed a finger into his broad chest. “You die, and I am sending Morrigan into the fade to drag you back.”

“Aren't there enough demons in the fade?” he growled, but kissed her again to let her know that he was joking. She let him claim her lips, deepening the kiss by opening her mouth, feeling his tongue slide gently over hers. The man was an artisan when it came to kissing. By the time he pulled away again, trailing light kisses on her cheeks, she felt as though she were made of warm air, ready to drift away to touch the icy stars above and make them blaze to life. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, taking a deep breath that stirred the air framing the side of her face. “I'm so glad that you are...you.” he finished the sentence flatly, his teeth dragging across his lower lip as his brow furrowed. “You could have turned Duncan down, and I never would have met you. You could have died in the joining, and never been in the battle. You could have died at Ostagar, and I would have had to face all this alone, but somehow you didn't, and you are strong and funny and brilliant and for reasons I will never understand actually letting me touch you and I just...I have no words for this.” his tone cracked at the end, anxious emotion vibrating his sonorous voice. She kissed him, with all the fervor that she could muster, because she didn't have any words either. Her heart was threatening to burst through her chest, and she could understand exactly why he felt like he was going to die of a heart attack. There was a cord wrapped around her soul with his name written in the fibers, and every moment it tangled tighter and tighter with her own.

After what might have been a few minutes or an eternity, she would never be able to tell, he pulled away and cleared his throat. The world seemed too cold without his arms around her, and she wished she could tear apart reality and tuck them away somewhere so that he would never have to let her go. “Well, I should...head to bed, call it a night before I catch on fire.”

She giggled, a nervous exhalation that bubbled and fizzed out of her like air trapped inside sweetened ale. She wanted to ask him to stay, to join her in her tent. She wanted to be brave and face that forbidden unknown with all the tenacity that she had approached everything else with thus far, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she realized she had no words of invitation or encouragement to share. She shivered, wondering what could be if she were just an ounce stronger, delighting in the anticipation of something that she wasn’t even sure she fully understood. There was a dance she had never learned in the years of lessons from her tutors, but some part of her felt like she knew the steps, like they were a primal part of her, ingrained in her muscles by the beating drum of her heart. The rhythm came in the dead of night, when the sun’s light was hidden by the mischievous stars, and only those daring enough to brave the enchanted darkness could feel the feverish pulse of that song.

Someday, they would try that dance, and discover all the nuance of the steps together. Some night they would explore each other’s harmonies, but not this night. “Goodnight, Alistair.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting it go. “Goodnight, Melody.” he stood, somewhat unbalanced, and gave her one last smile before walking away to his tent. She saw Wynne watching them, eyebrows raised on her face, and Melody groaned when she realized that they were both going to be relentlessly teased tomorrow. Even Sten was giving her a knowing look, half a smirk on his stony lips. Maker help her, though, she couldn’t bring herself to care enough to regret what had happened. She wouldn't have cared if he had taken her there in front of all of them, all that “forbidden mystery” put on display for the world to see. What mattered was that when his lips had met hers, she knew he had felt the same about her as she felt about him, and that was worth any mockery their friends might throw their way.


	14. A Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melody has her nerves shattered and we meet everyone's favorite assassin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG. I am so sorry this took so long to write. I have been:  
> a. Dealing with a divorce  
> b. Dealing with my dentist stuff  
> c. Moving  
> d. sick  
> e. working full time  
> and f. I DON'T EVEN KNOW ANYMORE BUT I'M SO TIRED. 
> 
> Plus this chapter took a bit of an unexpected turn (AND GOT EXCESSIVELY LONG). 
> 
> BUT, I have good news: this story has now taken on a mind of it's own, and it has a nice long outline and will probably be just as long and fleshed out as Tearing Down the Heavens. (hopefully that's good news, anyhow, unless you all totally hate Melody XD). 
> 
> I have so much writing planned for this little universe it isn't even funny, so I hope you guys are in it for the long haul. :D VIVA LA RED HEADED ROGUES. Anyways, hope you like the chapter. <3

The wooden boards that had been used to construct the stout wagon were old and warped, and every crack was filled with dust that puffed out in little bursts of gold every time she shifted her weight. Melody enjoyed the way the withered oak creaked as she swung her legs, watching her feet fly upward into the air in alternate beats. The clouds in the distance were still far enough away that the air had not yet chilled, and some of the sun still seeped through the layers of leather armor she wore. Her spirits were uplifted, and as she watched Bohdan excitedly explain the origin of some trinket he was trying to convince her to purchase, she couldn’t help but feel as though she were higher than her perch on the well-used cart. She felt like she was soaring through the sky, on wings made of only the kindest spirits, of gossamer sunlight and silk string feathers, and as she looked down below she could see a landscape filled with _hope_ , which was a feeling that she wanted to hold on to.

“And, if you like,” Bohdan was saying, his eyes glittering with the sense of enjoyment he took from his job, the same way they always did when she meandered over to his wares, “I can have my boy here add a little something _extra_ to the blade. On the house, of course. Just for you, my lovely young miss.”

She watched the light catch at the edge of the dagger, flickering in the golden filigree inlaid across the silver molded blade. It was pretty enough, that was certain, and the additional offer piqued her interest. “And what, good ser, would young Sandal add to this obviously outrageous bargain?” She giggled as she watched Bohdan attempt to smother his excitement, reigning in his joy in order to keep his composure.

“Why, an enchantment, of course!” Bohdan exclaimed, gesturing widely at Sandal as his face lit up like the back end of a firefly.

“Enchantment?!” pale blue eyes looked to her expectantly, and she couldn’t keep the smile from her lips.

She tossed her head to the side and let her hair splay down to her hip as she regarded the young dwarf. “Do you like to enchant weapons, Sandal?”

He nodded vigorously. “ _Enchantment!”_

She laughed again, enjoying the way that it felt effortless today, like she was filled to the brim with happiness and it had to escape in little pockets lest she burst into a shower of sparks and madness. Bohdan, ever the eager salesman, cut in with a broad grin. “You won’t find a better man for the job, not anywhere round these parts anyways. My boy is the best there is!”

“So how does it work? You place the rune in the weapon and then presto, I can light things on fire?” She reached for the dagger and Bohdan politely obliged the silent request, slipping the hilt between her waiting fingers. She spun it, enjoying the lightweight alloy more than she had expected.

“There’s a bit more finesse involved, but nothing Sandal can’t handle. We can add fire, ice, lightning…we can enhance the edge to make it cut through armor, or alter the weight so that you can swing it faster. We can channel different energies from the fade into the silverite, and use them to paralyze or confuse your enemies. Anything you can dream of, Sandal can find a way to do it.” He clapped the boy on the back and Sandal’s smile grew at least twice in size.

She flipped the blade in the air and caught it again deftly, winking at Sandal as he marveled at the feat. “How did you get so good at it, Sandal?”

“I remember.” He said. She tilted her head quizzically at him, and she found herself mesmerized as the depths of his eyes seemed to change, like the icy blue started to draw her in. The wind picked up and brushed against her cheeks and she shivered involuntarily, feeling the chill plunge straight into her bones.

“You remember?” she murmured the question, unsure of herself in the moment. What had felt like a bright and lovely day had become murky and quiet, drawn into the never ending tides of Sandal’s penetrating gaze. Her footing felt pulled out from under her, setting her adrift in the bitter cold as she waited…for _something_. As though she were held on the precipice of some great drop, and she would dance there until he bid her fly or fall. It was a strange sensation, and it left a lingering finger of unease swirling in her subconscious, a single drop of oil sliding across the surface of a still pond.

His voice never lost its cheery tone, but his eyes seemed to focus like a hawk’s as it circled its quivering prey. “Fire. Ash. Just like when the walls were burning and you could smell your mother’s hair as the tips singed in the heat. They could hear the screams until it stopped, and then those that could just went to sleep. Not many are on this side, but I remember when they were. I can find the holes and open them, and the stone remembers what it was like before.”

Her heart felt like it had leapt up into her throat and she tried to swallow around it, fighting back the bile that was threatening to escape her stomach. In the back of her mind fire burned, bright and hot and filling her with acrid smoke so that she felt as though she couldn’t breathe, painting her vision red despite the clear blue of the cloud dusted skies above. Her hair stirred against the side of her face, cobwebs dragging across her skin, and she shuddered again, dropping the dagger onto the muddy ground as it slipped from her nerveless fingers.

Bohdan, sensing the effect the strange speech had on her, lurched forward and retrieved the dagger, shoving it back into her lap. “Don’t mind him, miss. He says strange things like that sometimes, no idea where he gets it. He doesn’t mean anything by it, I assure you!”

“Um…” she swallowed again, trying to calm the waves of terror running through her veins. _It was just nonsense_ , she told herself. The innocent babblings of a simple boy. He must have overheard her talking to Alistair, or Wynne, and repeated something back to her. A cheap trick of memory, nothing more.

“Here,” Bohdan’s gentle voice demanded her attention, and his bulky fingers closed around her own, wrapping her hands around the hilt of the dagger. “I’m sorry if he rattled you. Take the blade, on the house. I don’t know anyone more suited to wield her, anyhow.”

She shook her head, a minute little movement that was more a shudder than something she had actively intended to do. She forced the muscles in her neck to relax, one by one, quietly clamping down the memories and the worry and the pain. She flashed him a smile that didn’t quite feel like it reached her own heart. “Thanks, Bohdan.” She hopped off the edge of the cart and playfully ruffled Sandal’s hair, tucking the flashy dagger into a hilt sewn into the edge of her boot. She tried to add a bounce to her step as she walked away, but there was something leaden in her gait that made her feel just seconds from toppling over at any moment.

She hoped that if she ignored it hard enough the writhing pit of ache now present in her chest would eventually disappear.

 

***

 

The rain that fell down onto the top of Melody’s head was not rhythmic. It was erratic, and each cold drop that worked its way into her scalp made her shiver in response, like the icy crystal of water had somehow seeped into her blood to chill her from within. The wind was not as unsettling as it had been earlier in the day when the clouds had swooped down upon them, and she was starting to see signs that the afternoon sun might break through the dreary grey above them to provide some semblance of warmth, but still the errant drops of steely liquid would find their way to her exposed skin and remind her that this was no lovely stroll. Melody longed for the end of the day, when they could set up camp and she could scrape the mud out of the divots in her boots. Ferelden roads had the remarkable ability of attempting to come _with_ them as they meandered across the map, and she felt as though she had dislodged enough murky brown dirt every evening to form a small island.

It was unusually quiet compared to the other days that they had spent traveling. There were no birds serenading their march, no nugs chittering in the brush. This particular stretch of road felt devoid of life and energy, abandoned like so many other places that they had passed as people fled from the coming blight. The dark, ever present storm clouds on the horizon foretold the arrival of the horde of evil, despite all of Loghain’s “official” denials, and people who had dirt clinging to the hems of their clothes and blisters on the palms of their hands always believed their eyes before the word of a lord, even if that lord had once been one of them.

The sting in her eyes tipped her off to the smoke in the air before her lungs could catch up, and she scanned the road up ahead for the telltale tendrils of black billows, curving up towards the clouds like dancing vines.

“Fire.” She said the word as evenly as she could, pointing to the slight glow that they could see above the top of the next hill, and in an instant the others had their weapons drawn and ready. They increased their pace, slipping into an easy jog as they approached the scene, eyes warily searching the edges of the road for signs of trouble. Around the bend in the road she could see what remained of a merchant’s cart, toppled and smashed to pieces, the horses once used to pull it along now dead in the unforgiving mud. Every piece of visible wood seemed to have been set aflame, and Melody wondered idly what kind of bandits would destroy a wagon rather than steal it. A woman in a threadbare cotton dress stood in front of the disaster, wringing her hands as her features contorted with despair. She turned at the sound of their approach, and the wail that escaped her lips was terrible and echoed in their ears long after it had been carried away by the wind.

“Oh, please! You have to help!” the woman cried, and Melody could see the tear tracks carved through the grime plastered to her face. “Bandits took us as though from nowhere, miss! There were too many and we were overwhelmed. They took my Benjamin!” she took a step forward, and Melody could practically smell the desperation rolling off of her, the smell of human suffering mingling with the smoke created a vivid echo of the night her home had been demolished. She recoiled from her as her heart stuttered painfully against her ribs, her mind calling forth all the details of the one night she wished to forget. Tongues of rusty flames licking at the paintings along the wall, her footsteps pounding against carpet that was soaked with the blood of the people she had known. She closed her eyes, and as she struggled to breathe around the darkness overtaking her insides she could hear the screams, faint trills of discord that left scars across her heart.

“Did you see which way they went?” Alistair spoke from beside her and she started, turning to look at him as the calm in his voice brought her back to the present. He spared her a glance, and that was all that she needed. She took a deep breath, willing her heart to stop its strenuous cadence. That was in the past, and there was no use opening that wound in this moment. _This_ moment there were others that needed her, others that _could_ be saved, and if she let herself be taken by that sinister hole of panic vibrating in her chest then she would be of no use to anyone.

The woman held up a shaking hand, pointing one bony finger towards a group of rocks that formed a natural maze of stone and moss. The sun didn’t reach most of the unusual alleys couched in the structure, and so it was a lair of shadows and shifting gloom, unknown danger pulsing like an aura between the slate towers. A voice inside Melody’s head seemed to chant a warning, one small part of her insisting she heed the ominous possibility of a trap. There were alcoves and darkness almost everywhere she looked in the little vista, the perfect breeding ground for an ambush. Yet this woman claimed someone was missing, and her caution stood little chance against the overwhelming drive to help those in need, to give this Benjamin a chance to live his life. She gripped her blades and felt the leather straps around the hilts dig into her palms, dragging against her skin until it felt raw from the pressure. In the back of her head she could still hear the screaming, and she set her jaw and tried to block it out. She took a step towards the grim space, and the gravel grinding beneath her feet was welcome to her straining ears, the sound of reality fighting against the insanity of the past.

Morrigan sighed irritably behind her. “Surely you do not intend to –”

She spun, facing the mage, and though she couldn’t imagine what she must look like, something in her face must have deterred further argument, because Morrigan snapped her mouth shut with an audible click as her teeth crashed together. She glared, and her yellow eyes darted to Alistair, and they shared some sentiment Melody didn’t have the patience to understand at the moment. She turned back around and took the rest of the steps to the rocky labyrinth, and there were no further protests from the team at her heels.

It was quiet once the looming towers of stone had fully surrounded them. The sounds of the burning wagon and the fretful woman seemed to fade, and the sound of her own breathing felt muffled in the chill air.  The thick carpets of moss growing across the uneven walls seemed to absorb sound, swallowing the evidence of their passage as though they didn’t truly exist. A thin mist shifted through the air, pale and ghostly as it clung to her skin, fingers of moisture pressed to her heated cheeks. She felt alone, alone with her heartbeat and the ragged air between her lips, alone with the screams that only she could hear and the memory of flames pressing into her back. The world was large, a vast empty plain, and she remained in the center, spinning out of control as she tried to cling to her sanity even as it shattered and sliced through her hands.

The knife slipped a mere inch past her head as it sailed through the air, embedding in the mossy wall next to her a second later, the cold silver flashing in the muted sun. She turned towards the direction it came from, feeling as though every movement was couched in a pocket of endless time, taking an eternity while the rest of the world sped by at impossible speed. She saw the point of the second knife, gleaming with a sinister simplicity as it floated towards her heart. She raised her arms, far too slowly, trying to block the death threading through the faded fog. She knew it was too late, that she would never dodge the blow or parry the blade, and it was strange to think this might be her death. An unexpected end to an unexpected journey.

Morrigan was faster than them all, faster than the wind, faster than lightning, faster than the silver ray of destruction balanced at the tip of the speeding blade. Her staff spun as she thrust herself forward, diverting the knife from its fated path. It struck the dark wood, splinters flying in an arc as the blade passed her by, slicing across her bare shoulder and leaving a bright red ribbon of pain behind. The knife lost its momentum and fell to the ground a few feet away, no longer threatening as it spun harmlessly against the stone. Morrigan turned to look at Melody, and relief chased admonishment in the ochre reflections of her eyes.

Melody ducked a thousand seconds too late, dropping low to the ground and covering her head as though her trembling limbs could deflect any further danger. She shook, from the fibers in her bones to the gentle nerves at the tips of her fingers, every part of her vibrating with terror that she could neither explain or dismiss. She couldn’t breathe. The air in the world was bouncing out of her lungs as though repelled by her desperation, and the faster she tried to draw it in the faster it dissipated and left her gasping and empty. There was thunder in her veins and whispers in her ears, fire in her eyes and ice along her spine, she was choking in her memories and drowning in her present. Melody was suspended in time, trapped in her own head as her mind devoured itself from the inside out, and as the chaos surrounded her like a shroud of despair, she counted the seconds until it would all fade to black.

 

***

 

She sank like a stone in a tepid pond, her fingers shaking as they cradled her head. Morrigan watched their leader fall under the strain of her own panic, the weight of the ghosts that haunted her mind too much in this moment. It frightened her to see the girl that had handled the demons of the tower with such strength crumble over a mundane thing such as this, and it tugged at her emotions in a way that she was not prepared to face.

She turned to their assailants as they crept out of the stone prison, daggers and swords and arrows lifted as their faces reflected their insidious intent. Morrigan could feel the cut on her arm burning like it had been filled with seething rage, and she knew that there was poison creeping through her flesh with every pump of her heart. She ignored the pain and lifted her staff, using her will to rip through the veil just as Wynne did the same, the pair of them drawing forth the energy they needed to attack their ambushers. She saw Alistair take a step towards Melody out of the corner of her eye, but one of the bandits was on him before he could reach her. He turned and parried the low swipe of the jagged blade, his own steel clashing against the obsidian dagger, and sparks flew from the impact as he growled in frustration. Morrigan tossed a spiral of fire towards the men approaching her, her eyes locking with Alistair’s for the briefest of moments as he attempted to gain the offensive against his foe. His amber gaze was full of focus and pleading, and she swore under her breath, for she took his meaning all too clearly: _Help her_.

She launched a volley of ice that sailed through the air like deadly birds, beaks trained on the hearts of the fools who dared approach them. She didn’t wait long enough to see if her aim had been true, her heel grinding roughly against the stone as she spun to rush to Melody’s side. Battle clanged and clattered all around them, and Melody had pressed her palms against her ears, her shoulders shaking roughly as she tried to curl into herself and disappear. She could not see the other girl’s face, as her hair had tumbled free from the confines of the tie and hung like curtains drawn shut against the light.

She let her staff fall to the ground, kneeling next to the quaking girl, close enough to make her presence known but not quite touching. “Melody.” She kept her voice low and insistent, yet as calm as she could make it in the midst of this tempest of adrenaline and blood. Melody flinched but didn’t raise her head, retreating further into whatever world had taken her.

“More of them coming over the hill!” Leliana called from her perch on one of the nearby rocks, an arrow launching from her vantage point and lodging itself in a man’s eye socket.

They didn’t have _time_  for this. “Damnit Melody, look at me!” she spoke rougher than she had intended, but it had the desired effect. Her head shot up, her hair parting to reveal eyes as wide as they could go, with blown pupils in the center of the emerald pools. Her lips were parted as tiny breaths burst in and out of her lungs, too quickly to provide her the air that she would desperately need to calm down. She didn’t seem to look _at_ Morrigan so much as she looked through her, her eyes riveted on something in the past that had hooks sunken into every inch of her mind. The woman that had been steel in the tower was now a child in the mud, begging for release from a reality that she could not connect to.

“Melody, look at me.” She spoke softer this time, her words a lullaby that couldn’t be heard. She reached out slowly and brushed her thumb against Melody’s chin, titling her head up so that their eyes met. She saw the unfocused haze dissipate as she fixated on Morrigan. “Come on, come back to us.” She murmured.

Alistair stumbled next to them, catching a particularly vicious blow with his shield, the force enough to drive him back several steps before he thrust it forward, sending the assailant careening in the other direction. The sound seemed to snap her out of the spell over her nerve, and she looked to him, a flush of color racing across her pale cheeks. She stood, her footing steadier by the moment, and gripped her blades tighter in her fists. She gave Morrigan one resolute nod before she sprinted into the fray, leaping to Alistair’s defense and cutting through the enemies with the fluid skill they had come to expect from her.

Normalcy had been restored, it seemed. If anything they did could be considered as such. Morrigan picked up her staff and joined them, eager to eliminate these brigands and move as far away from this moment as time would allow.

 

***

 

She wasn’t sure what had happened, but she sought vengeance against the bastards that had triggered it. Melody let her rage consume her as she cut them down, one by one trading the screams in her mind for the screams from their dying lips. It wasn’t until she realized that she couldn’t hear anything anymore that she became aware of how far away she had drifted from the others. Her dance of death had swayed out of the mountainous maze and into an open clearing. Mint colored fronds of grass swayed in the breeze, her breath echoing heavily in her ears as she heaved in air from her exertion. There were no enemies before her, nor were there victorious companions at her side. She was alone, for the moment, in this glade of serenity, and she felt strangely out of place. All her chaos, all her confusion, all her tempestuous memories boiling over just under the surface of her blood caked skin. All of this made her an outsider to such a peaceful place, an outsider who could never belong.

Hands too soft to belong to a warrior slipped around her collarbone, a long silver knife pressing into the pulse point at her neck just enough to make breathing a dangerous game. If she were to inhale too quickly or too greedily the edge of the blade would pierce her flesh, parting pale snow to let ruby rivers flow. She didn’t have enough air in her lungs to scream, and as she swallowed back her trepidation she felt the man grin behind her head, feeling the warmth of his breath stir the sweat dampened tendrils of her hair.

“Scream, and your life will disappear faster than a Templar’s morals in a brothel.” His voice was low and melodic, scratching against her senses as he murmured in her ear.

She laughed, in spite of the situation and in spite of herself. “What makes you think I would scream?”

She could feel his confusion as he pondered her unexpected response, and that was all the distraction she needed to gain the upper hand. She leaned into the knife, letting it map a shallow cut across her throat that would be little more than a pretty scar in a few days, and with a fluid twist of her hips she swiveled around to face him. She held her own dagger into the side of his stomach, pressing the blade in far enough to let him know that she understood how to use it and exactly which spot would buy him a slow and painful death, and he raised his knife back up to her chin, resting the silver tip so that her head tilted up just slightly. They stared each other down, and she was shocked to notice how young he was. He was a lithe, tan man, with ash blonde hair hanging around a finely boned face. A swooping set of lines was tattooed on the side of his cheek, and his lips were bent in a sultry smile. One eyebrow rose up towards his hairline, and she felt his breath caress the sides of her face as he chuckled.

“You are not the damsel in distress, then. My mistake.” His hazel eyes glittered with amusement, and she couldn’t stop the smirk that spread across her face.

“And you are…?” she leaned in, applying just the slightest amount of pressure to the blade in his side. This dangerous game of questions was an excellent distraction, and she threw her focus into it, absorbing the reality of the hazard pressing against her in order to forget the fragility that she had shown during the battle.

He flinched from the silent threat, but recovered his charm quickly enough. “Apparently a very bad assassin.”

“An assassin?” her own eyebrows shot skyward. “Not a bandit then?”

He sucked in a quick gasp, his eyes widening. “A bandit? Madam you wound me! Surely even in my rather unfortunate current predicament my caliber is still above that of some common thug, yes?”

She flicked her wrist and dug the tip of her dagger into the sensitive flesh just beneath his ribs. “Why would an assassin attack a caravan?” she narrowed her eyes, anger welling up as she remembered the frantic woman and the wreck of her livelihood.

“Ah.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “You met Carlotta, I presume? She can be very enthusiastic for these things.”

“You mean…?”

He nodded emphatically. “One of us, I’m afraid. We harmed no innocent bystanders, if that fact makes you any less likely to run me through.” He leaned forward, quicker than she anticipated, and trailed the dagger on her throat lower towards her pulse again before she had time to react. “I could think of many more reasons, should they be required.”

She swallowed and felt the grip of her dagger slip against the sweat in the palm of her hand. “Is that a threat?”

He looked her over, his eyes searching her face for some sign. She noticed for the first time the tension in the muscles along his jaw and the anxiety lurking beneath that mischievous grin. Then, beneath all of that, a shadow so thick it was like a blanket wrapped around his soul. She could see it billowing inside of him, much like the pain that filled her own chest. The ghosts in their pasts called out to one another, reaching across the divide of their standoff to brush fingertips and exchange understanding. Two rogues, two daggers, two traumas unspoken and raw. She met his gaze and held it, and this seemed to halt his hesitation, and he stepped back abruptly, flipping the dagger and tucking it back into the inside of his boot.

“No, it was not a threat.” He said. “It was a proposal.”

She kept her dagger in her hand, ready should she need it, but relaxed her posture, canting her hips to the side as she studied him. “An assassin with a proposal? That sounds remarkably like a trap.”

“Ah, but if you recall, I am not a very good assassin.” He grinned, and boyish charm practically dripped from his angled features. “Perhaps I should find another profession.”

Melody laughed in spite of herself. “You want me to…what, hire you?”

He pouted, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Well if you are going to say it like _that_ , then _no_.” he sighed, running bony fingers through his silky hair. “Look, you are grey a warden, no? I assume whatever it is you are doing is important. I think a change in purpose would suit me, and since you are clearly a formidable woman, I could certainly do worse than to follow you.”

“Follow me? Weren’t you _just_ trying to kill me?” she frowned at him, wondering if it was even worth it to hear his answer.

“It is the way of the Crows.” He shrugged, affecting an expression of boredom. “I was raised to be this, and so it is what I am.”

“You just kill anyone? Aren’t you worried about killing innocents?”

“The innocents of this world wind up dead one way or another. By my blade or the next does not truly matter.” He averted his eyes, staring at the ground, and Melody thought she could sense the bitter truth in the words despite their airy delivery, as well as his desire to believe it wasn’t so.

She used a free hand to swipe her hair away from her eyes, studying every muscle twitch in his face for some sign of honesty, some reason to believe that he meant what he said. “So if that’s what you are, why ask to follow me?”

“I was hired to do a job. I attempted to complete it in good faith, but alas I have clearly met my match.” He bowed with a facetious grin, and Melody rolled her eyes in response. “Look, regardless of what your answer is, I may very well be a dead man. I have failed to assassinate you, and so the Crows will have my life as payment for that crime. If you refuse my offer, I am sure your compatriots would kill me just as quickly. My life is in your lovely hands, as it were. I will not resort to begging, but I WILL ask you plainly: I would like a second chance to become something more.”

“A second chance?” she murmured. She half turned as she heard a commotion from the ambush site. She could discern Alistair’s voice calling her name, a frantic tremor in every syllable. She turned back to the assassin and reached out to him, taking his hand as his eyes widened and he blinked at her. “Swear to me.” She said urgently. “Swear to me you are really looking for a second chance, or so help me I will –”

“I swear, I swear!” he said, nodding enthusiastically. She saw the glimmer of hope in his eyes, and it filled her with surety that she had perhaps not just made her biggest mistake yet.

 

***

 

He had seen her stand resolute against impossible danger, and now he had seen her crumble in the face of a minor threat. Alistair wasn’t sure which scenario had terrified him more. Watching her already pale skin drain of color as she dropped to the ground was not a sight he would ever want to see again. The blind terror in her eyes was enough to break his heart a thousand times over, and he had wanted to do nothing short of rushing to her rescue.

Battle rarely accounted for the desires of its participants, however. He had been engaged almost immediately, and the only time that he had to spare was a quick, pleading look at Morrigan before he had to focus on the task at hand, hoping he could count on the witch to save the one thing they had in common. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but before long Melody was on her feet again, throwing herself into the fray with a vicious abandon that he had not seen from her before. Then, as the skirmish had drawn to a close, he had realized that she was no longer fighting at his side. The dust had settled, and Alistair had no idea where she had gone.

He couldn’t tell what was louder, the ringing of the steel in his boots as it slammed against the stone ground, or the thudding of his heart as it pounded against his ribs. He lifted his arms, cupping his hands around his mouth, and called her name once again. Each syllable echoed strangely off the granite walls, slipping back into his ears like cold imitations of her laughter, remnants of her warmth pressed against his lips.

They found their way through the rocky canyon and into a clearing, where he finally caught sight of her. She was standing close to an elven man that he had never seen before, the pair of them having an intense conversation by the expression on their faces. Her hand was gripped in his, and Alistair had to fight the urge to sever the elf’s arm at the elbow, but seeing her alive and well was everything he had asked for, so whatever was happening was of little consequence as long as she was in one piece.

He hefted his sword into the air, aiming at him. “Step away from her. Now.”

Surprisingly, Morrigan stepped up to stand beside him, her hand palm up and cupping a small electrical storm just above her curved fingers. “I recommend listening to him.”

The man immediately obeyed, releasing her hand to put his own up in surrender, backing away three gracious steps before standing as still as possible. “I wish no harm to your lovely warden friend.” He said, his accent dancing around the words like music. “Well, not _anymore_ –”

Melody took a step towards him, her eyes wide and earnest. “Alistair –”

“Has he harmed you?” Morrigan’s voice cut through the air like shattered glass, full of anger and accusation that was unlike her usual biting sarcasm.

Melody turned her attention to the alarmed mage, holding up a hand in supplication. “Morrigan, I’m fine.” She held her arms out wide, nodding to her body as if placing herself on display. “See? All in one piece.”

For a moment Morrigan’s eyes narrowed, her gaze darting between Melody and the stranger, sizing up the situation like a cat unsure of its footing. Finally she seemed satisfied with the answer, and she flipped her hand over, extinguishing the electrical charge with a flick of her fingers. She didn’t bother to speak, or apologize, but crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the elven assassin.

“Melody?” Alistair posed the question in a single word, a dozen meanings wrapped up in the upward intonation at the end.

Melody took a long, deep breath, her lungs filling with air that he watched pass back out between her trembling lips. She wore a brave face, but underneath it her cheeks had lost their color, and her eyes were filled with that sharp shadow that overtook her so often. Parts of her were broken, parts of her that she pushed deeper inside with each passing day, and Alistair couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before the wounds they carved within her became too much to bear.

“Alright, I know how this is going to sound,” she said, another shaking breath between her words, “but he’s coming with us.”

The explosion of negativity that erupted from the rest of them was enough to make both the assassin and Melody flinch, as each of her other followers shouted down the ludicrous idea.

“No, absolutely not.” Morrigan’s stern denial carried over the din. “We are not the home for wayward misfits!”

“The Maker teaches compassion…” Leliana bit her lip, unsure of the words even as she spoke them. She eyed the would-be murderer with trepidation.

Wynne folded her arms in front of her, placing one finger on the side of her face as she considered the man before them. “What reason has he given for such mercy?”

Morrigan rounded on her, her slender hands curling into fists at her side. “What difference could that possibly make? Had we not arrived when we did she could be bleeding at our feet at this very moment!”

“He was obviously not _that_ close to killing her, don’t be so dramatic.” Leliana rolled her eyes.

“I _really_ hate to say this,” Alistair said, loathing what he was about to say more than he loathed trying to eat one of Leliana’s Orlesian flans, “but Morrigan has a point.”

Wynne covered her laugh with a cough. “Well, isn’t _this_ an occasion.”

Leliana tittered in response, not bothering to hide her amusement. “The end of times is upon us.”

Morrigan stamped her foot and rolled her eyes. “Can we focus on one insanity at a time?”

“We can’t travel with someone we can’t trust.” Alistair shook his head, turning his gaze back to Melody. He was surprised to see her look angry, the crease forming at the base of her brow like a furious little wrinkle that said everything she was refraining from saying aloud. He opened his mouth to explain his hesitation, to attempt to express his doubts in a way that would not offend her, but all that escaped was a beleaguered sigh.

“This is not up for debate.” Melody told them, a sudden authority in her voice that was so commanding that they all fell silent. “He’s asked to come with us, and I won’t turn away help when it’s offered. We are capable enough that if he turns his coat we can handle it.” She glanced back at the man, and something in her gaze softened. “But I trust him.”

“ _No_. This is absurd. You take him in your confidence and he slays you in your sleep. Is there any other outcome you can see from this?” Morrigan took a step towards her. “If you will not see reason from me, listen to the witless wonder. Even _he_ knows this is unwise!” Morrigan flung a finger in his direction and he flinched in response, wishing he had the ability to disappear on command.

Melody looked to her friend and bit her lip, clearly torn due to the vehemence of her objection. She turned her gaze to him, and he could see the plea for help beneath her attempt to remain firm in her resolve. To his profound shock, Morrigan _also_ turned to him, and he could see her silent demand to back her up, to take her side and keep them from gaining this questionable ally. He looked between the two women, and despite his reservations, he knew his choice after very little consideration.

“If you trust him, then I trust him.” He told Melody. The relief in her eyes was all the reward that he needed, so he was grateful all the more for the radiant smile she sent his way.

“You are the most useless man I have ever met.” Morrigan muttered, her irritation like daggers flashing in her eyes.

“Oh good.” The stranger drawled, holding in a laugh between his teeth. “It has been some time since I had encountered someone more useless than I.” He took several long strides forward and thrust his hand out towards Alistair, the grin on his face far too facetious to be sincere. “Zevran Arainai, at your service.”

Resigned to his position, Alistair took the proffered hand, surprised at how warm the handshake was. “Well, we can be useless together, I suppose.”

The noise that Morrigan made sounded like something dying while being dragged high speed behind a frantic steed, and Alistair decided that anyone that could help him get to her _that_ much couldn’t be as bad as they had seemed.


	15. Anticlimactic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we make a detour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THESE UPDATES ARE TAKING SO LONG. 
> 
> I swear I am trying to pick up the pace. >.> Although there may be a bit of a hiatus for a bit. The holidays are a bit of a timesuck (admittedly a fun one), and I have to pour some energy into another project so I can resubmit it to new places. But I will try not to disappear completely. :s
> 
> Anyways, here is a kind of smallish chapter. I'm not positive I'm happy with it but I am tired of looking at it so HERE HAVE THIS THING WHATEVER IT IS.

She was being treated as though she were crafted of spun glass, an ornament to place at the head of their party only to be tucked away safely should any sign of danger rear its ugly head. Melody loathed the way they all hovered around her, with sidelong glances brimming with concern. She could feel her cheeks burning with shame at her performance the other day. She wanted nothing more than to forget about it completely, but every time she met the eyes of one of her team members she could see the memory swirling in the black pits of their pupils, and she was forced to relive her embarrassment over and over again. She knew they didn’t intend to incite her guilt, she knew they fussed only out of a fondness for her, but the truth was that it didn’t matter. It stuck beneath her skin like a broken thorn wedged beneath a fingernail, digging at her patience until all she wanted to do was stand there and scream into the abyss.

She resolutely refused to acknowledge any of this, however, and the smile that she kept plastered on her lips was beginning to make her cheeks ache. She was pretending that the constant sting in her eyes was from the wind, and that the flush was from her brisk pace as they journeyed down the grass lined road. Whenever Alistair approached and attempted to broach the subject, to get her to open up to him in his own awkward way, she silenced him with tender kisses and lingering touches, letting her fingers and mouth distract him from the issue that she did not want to address. The others kept their distance, for the most part, although she had to give Morrigan a look of warning once when she attempted to pull her aside for some “idle chatter”, claiming she was bored. Thankfully the witch respected privacy, probably more than was necessary, and it was the last she had heard on the issue from her. At least for the time being.

They had been privilege to an opportune encounter, a merchant with a rather dubious offer, and Melody had been able to welcome the distraction with open arms, despite her inner surety that they were being robbed blind. The chances of the simple rod actually doing what the merchant proclaimed were slim to none, but she would never admit that aloud. For all her trusting companions knew, she fully believed that they were about to control a golem, straight out of the darkened legends of old, and she was not about to disabuse them of the notion. This was her escape, her way to ignore the pounding in her head that reminded her of her pitiful fragility. This was her way to apply pressure to all the little fissures forming across her mind, holding herself together when the world demanded she break.

She hefted the long cylinder in her hand, spinning it and letting the absurdly old metal catch little rays of sunlight. She had spent almost every copper she had on the thing, but she was well aware that she was paying for a day’s misdirection rather than anything tangible. The merchant could have told her something far more outlandish than he had, and still she would have handed over her coin and blissfully marched on her way. _This_ was something she could deal with today, something to change the pace of her thinking, to reset her reality back to something she could hold in her hands and regulate. It was ludicrous, and a waste of time, but it was also _manageable_ , and in the end she had decided that something so novel was ultimately priceless.

The little town marked on their map by the now far wealthier merchant was, in a word, quaint. Uniform houses lined well-kept roads, white slatted fences separating the two. Everything looked like it had been maintained with the same simple love and craftsmanship, every brush of paint or embedded nail done with a whistle and a genial swipe of a brow. The people of Honnleath must have been very happy there, before the blight had driven them out. Now, it was a strange spot of brightness in the ravaged countryside, a pocket of sunshine that had not yet been swallowed by the looming storm. Xander and Indra certainly took a liking to the place, the pair of hounds bounding in and out of tended yards with soft snorts of approval. At one point Xander wandered into someone’s beautiful flower patch, and when he came back around the fence so the party could see him he had a shower of yellow and pink petals clinging to his coat. She laughed as Alistair fussed over him, brushing him clean and scolding him for letting himself get into such a state, and Melody felt uplifted for the first time since their last battle. It was only on the surface, only an outward sense of peace that didn’t quite pass beneath the ice under her skin, but it was more than she had been able to lay claim to since Zevran had joined them, and she welcomed the change.

The town wasn’t large, and so it wasn’t hard to locate their “prize”. Standing in the center of town, great stone arms thrown wide, was a massive statue. Rocks stacked together, fitted perfectly into something resembling the shape of a man, created a formidable figure. It would have been more impressive had it not been speckled in bird droppings, one bird in particular still parked on the golem’s head, a look of utter nonchalance in its beady little eyes. As the party approached, the creature took wing, a small burst of feathers drifting through the air in its wake. One settled in the very center of the statue’s face, and it made Melody’s nose itch just to see it there.

She walked up to the front of the golem, craning her neck to meet its unmoving gaze. It was at least four feet above her meager stature, dwarfing her as she stood in its long shadow. It seemed impossible that the shortest race in Thedas had been responsible for this monster’s construction. She couldn’t say it didn’t have a certain appeal to it, however. Aside from the obvious power such a thing could possess in motion, Melody found it quite pretty. Between the little fissures in the stone she could see blue sparkling as it caught errant light, and the eyes were blue stones, dulled with age yet still bright as she looked into them. She looked up and down and frowned, the splatters of unnamable refuse caked across its body distasteful. It was a shame that this was the one piece of Honnleath that didn’t look as though it were tended to with care. Left to stand alone in the elements for who knew how long, whatever task it had undertaken left unfinished. It had been frozen in time and forgotten, with only the birds bearing witness to its struggle.

“That won’t do.” She murmured, idly twirling the rod between her fingers. There was not enough history left in the world after the blights had all but wiped them off the face of Thedas, and to let a piece be so abused was a crime she couldn’t condone.

“Well, have we come to stare at rocks or are you intending on doing something with that expensive waste of time you acquired?” Morrigan crossed her arms over her chest, gripping her staff in one hand in order to lean on it. She smiled as she spoke, taking most of the sting out of her words, and Melody grinned back at her.

She looked back at the golem, placing her hands on her hips. “If I were an ancient being of immense power, I would think I’d be rather cross to wake up covered in droppings.” She told them. She set the rod on the ground next to one massive granite foot, then lifted her hands to tie back her hair, tucking the errant strands in place more securely. She turned to the party and clapped her hands. “Let’s clean it up first.”

“I’m not touching that. Look at it, its positively filthy.” Leliana curled her lip in distaste, taking a step back as though it might lunge at her.

Alistair rolled his eyes and sighed. “Your armor’s still covered in blood from our last battle. _You're_ filthy.”

“ _That's different."_ She stomped a foot for emphasis, glaring at him in admonishment.

Zevran clicked his tongue and sidled up next to her, snaking an arm around her shoulders. “It all comes from the same place, my love.”

Leliana’s scowl broke and she laughed, tossing his arm away playfully. “Only if you’re stabbing them in the ass.”

“My word, did the chantry sister just use _colorful_ language?” Wynne feigned affront, clutching at her chest as though to keep her heart in place.

Alistair crossed his arms and affected a stern expression, which was all the more ludicrous on his bright face. “It must be all these apostates you travel with. Terribly bad influence, I hear.”

Morrigan snorted out a bitter laugh. “It’s the Templars that wanted to murder an entire tower of people, in case you had forgotten.” She examined her nails and watched him from the corner of her gaze. “I know your brain doesn’t have much capacity for such things. It is lucky for you I am nice enough to pick up the slack for your deficiencies.”

Alistair stepped forward to retort, but Melody stepped in, placing her hand on his chest with a gentle smile. “Enough. Can we get started so we can get it up and running sometime before the archdemon shows up?”

There were groans of reluctance, but none of them put up much against the shower of exuberance she pelted them with. As false as it was, she found something meaningful in just pretending. Acting excited had the effect of bleeding through the numb shroud she had wrapped around her inner thoughts, and by the time they had all agreed to help she was almost feeling like herself, rather than the hollow shadow she had become lately. Leliana found a blouse in her pack that they could shred for rags, saying it had come with an armor set that was “simply hideous”, and Morrigan crafted a bucket out of ice and filled it with crystal water. They set to work, and for approximately two hours the team of heroes cleaned a forgotten statue. It was difficult work, as the grime and detritus had been left for countless years on the poor thing, but they used the time well. It was easy, and relaxing. Their minds drifted from the burdens placed on their shoulders, and Melody felt as though she were surrounded by family, rather than a spun glass figurehead thrown into a storm. It was easy, too easy, to forget that they were all so young. They were meant to while away the days, wasting time as only the young can. The weight of the world on their shoulders was suffocating them slowly, and while this had seemed like a useless endeavor, the relief of forgetting their responsibilities was worth the money they had lost ten times over. For a few hours, they remembered who they were. They remembered how to laugh, they remembered how to breathe, and the shared a fragile moment of happiness before the world had a chance to drag them away from it.

When the golem had been polished so that it practically glowed, Melody stood back and wiped the sweat from her brow, long strands or her hair sticking to the side of her face and curling from the damp. She admired their handiwork, and was pleased when Alistair wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close as he gazed along with her. It felt warm and comforting and right, and a thousand images of a life after this war danced through her head. They were formless, bright spots of glowing hope in a thick fog she couldn’t quite see through, but for the first time she thought of the future, of what might come after they had done what was needed. She didn’t know what she wanted out of life. She had never collected the same dreams of weddings and castles that the other girls had. Melody had always been a child that existed in the moment, but Alistair’s fingers pressing into her hips made her wonder what was out there for them, what promises could they extract from the endless march of time?

“Can we wake it up now and be done with this farce?” Morrigan asked, tossing her rag on the ground and setting it ablaze, as though seeking vengeance for the hours that she had lost on manual labor.

Melody nodded emphatically. “ _Now_ we can wake it up.” She bent over and picked up the control rod from where she had left it, the rust from the metal staining the tips of her moisture-shriveled fingers. She held up the rod with a broad flourish, aiming it at the golem as she took a deep breath, excitement sending tingles down her spine. They had worked their way up to this moment, and they waited in hushed suspense for their efforts to pay off.

She had forgotten during her enjoyment of the brief piece that this whole quest had been insane in the first place, and she was chagrined to discover she was actually disappointed when the golem remained motionless stone before them, its eyes dead as they stared into the nothing. Her shoulders slumped as she dropped the rod, her lips turning down into a pout.

Zevran sighed, patting her on the back with a sheepish smile. “That was anticlimactic.”

“ _That_ was nothing short of expected.” Morrigan muttered, although she had the good sense to avert her gaze as Melody shot her a reproachful glare.

“Maybe you should say something? Like a spell or something?” Alistair offered.

“Even if that was how it worked, I doubt the activation phrase would be something we could guess.” Wynne replied, “Otherwise someone would have woken it up a long time ago.”

Melody stepped up to the statue again, placing her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry, friend. I don’t know how to set you free.”

“Well, we should at least search the town. There has to be something here that was worth our trouble, no?” Leliana asked.

“Perhaps the villagers left behind supplies before the fled.” Zevran kicked a small stone, sending it flying over the fence of once of the houses.

Alistair slipped his fingers into hers, lacing them together as he smiled down at her. “There has to be _something_ interesting here,” he said.

“Careful what you wish for.” She smirked at him, applying pressure to his hand as she stuffed her disappointment down into the same place she hid all of her other undesirable feelings. “The ‘somethings’ we find are usually a lot of trouble.”

Trouble, it seemed, was the one thing they could always count on.


	16. A Gross, Gelatinous Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we enter the house at the end of the lane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo finally an update. 
> 
> I think I might have found my stride for this story, so hopefully I can start pushing these out regularly again. Barring any further disasters in my life, that is. (January I broke my neck, last month I had a tooth pulled and developed dry socket. 2016 is GREAT.)
> 
> I might also be taking this story in a slightly different direction. Hopefully you guys like it even though it will be a different resolution than the original story. :D

The town was empty. Of course, there were the objects left behind by people that had once lived there, ghostly specters of mundane existences. Everyday items left lying in various places, left without thought or intention. As though the people had expected to come right back to them when they had finished whatever task that had called them away. The world in Honnleath had just stopped, the people vanishing, and now it remained frozen in time as the world crumbled to fear and war around it.

The desertion of the serene village dampened their spirits rapidly, and soon the jokes and laughter dribbled into stony silence as they picked their way through homes, untouched by the same destruction they had seen everywhere else. They were able to locate some supplies, but none of them felt particularly elated to take them. Certainly they could put them to use, and they had every right to claim the unattended items for their cause, but because everything felt in its place it felt more like stealing than scavenging.

The last house at the end of the row stood grandly at the top of the small hill. The paint was still bright enough that it seemed to be smiling, though through the thin-paned windows they could see only dim shadow. The tiles on the roof formed a flawless pattern of slate and stone, not a single piece missing or out of place. A picket fence, the gate swinging ajar, provided a perimeter around a modest garden, sunflowers casting long stalks of shade over other vegetables and soft grass. Indra began chewing on a carrot left in the bottom of a tipped bucket before coughing indignantly, malformed bits of orange falling to the ground as she rejected the healthy snack.

Melody walked up the cobblestone pathway to the door, peering through the small circular window into the house beyond. Dust motes danced in the sunlight that filtered through the other windows, disappearing into the edges of the shadows before drifting back into the golden glow. She could see vague outlines of furniture and personal items, pictures hanging in a stairwell leading to the second floor. Abandoned, just like the rest, left as a shelter for the dust and the wind.

She nearly leapt out of her skin at the light touch of fingers on her back, causing Morrigan to roll her eyes and withdraw her slender fingers. “Tis only me.”

“That’s probably worse than what she was expecting.” Alistair leaned against the side of the house, immensely pleased with his observation.

“ _You're_  the only one stupid enough to be scared of your own allies, dog boy.” The subtle tilt of Morrigan’s smile was all but invisible, but Melody couldn’t help giggling in response, which brought a genuine grin to the witch’s face.

“Uh oh, did you see that?” Zevran leaned towards Alistair, watching the two girls with feigned terror. “They’re conspiring together now. You should run while you still have unshackled feet to do so, my friend.”

Alistair narrowed his eyes at Morrigan, leaving his spot on the wall to walk over to Melody and snake an arm around her waist. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“ _Always_ fear a tamassran.” Sten’s eyebrows threatened to swallow the bridge of his nose, his gaze forbidding. Melody giggled again, which seemed to be his desired reaction, as he lifted his head and walked to the other side of the front of the house, peering into another window, the matter apparently settled.

“He is _very_ strange.” Alistair mused.

Melody opened her mouth to respond, but a crashing noise from within the house drove the words from her lips. She shoved her face back into the tiny window, straining to see through the murk and dust to locate the source of the sound. She thought she caught a glimmer of movement at the back of a hallway, followed by another crash and the tinkle of shattering glass. She wrapped her hand around the doorknob, not taking the time to be surprised that it was unlocked, and threw open the door, rushing into the entryway.

The footsteps of her team followed her as she chased the noise down the hallway, passing by a shattered door half hiding a stairwell to the basement. She made her way to the back of the house, listening carefully to the rustling of several heavy somethings shuffling in the dark room. Her boots crunched ceramic glass underfoot, a vase of some kind dashed against the varnished floorboards. She scanned the room, but her eyes saw only obscurity as they struggled to adjust to the difference of the light from the bright sunshine they had been in moments before. Her heart hammered beneath her ribs, a layer of sweat building up on the back of her neck and tickling the surface of her skin. She could also feel the poison in her blood, boiling and itching just beneath her skin, crawling like maggots against her veins as it reacted to the presence of evil that lurked in the heavy murk.

Then she couldn’t breathe, and she was flying backwards while somebody started yelling.

 

***

 

Alistair saw the darkspawn before Melody even realized there was movement in front of her, his blood pulling in the darkness as it called out to the blighted creatures, and in the space of the breath he took to shout a warning the genlock had already swung its massive hammer, driving it into Melody’s middle with enough force to make her double over, a ragged gasp tearing from her throat as her feet left the ground. She sailed past Alistair and arced in a trajectory that would send her crashing into an unfortunate armoire, her arms hanging limp as she was carried away. Flickering light ignited the room as Morrigan began to cast, and in the illumination provided by the summoned wisp Alistair could clearly see Melody, who could now sense her enemies. With an impressive twist of her spine she altered her flight, changing course just enough so that she was aimed towards one of the other five genlocks. She crashed into it, sending them both toppling into the armoire, driving a dagger into its gut with all the force of her impact. She coughed and sputtered as she tried to lift herself back up from where they had fallen, her dazed eyes picking up bright mirrors of light as Wynne’s magic mixed with Morrigan’s to brighten the glow in the room.

Alistair tore his eyes away from Melody and rushed to meet the other genlocks, drawing his blade with a ring of steel scraping against steel, occupying the enemy’s attention as the others in their party scrambled to do the same. He focused on the largest of their foes first, a hulking darkspawn snarling and snapping its crooked teeth, gums black rimmed and putrid. Alistair lifted his blade and took a springing step forward, angling the weapon so that it tilted up underneath the shell of the monster’s rib cage, slicing through the fatuous flesh between the bone and severing the blackened muscles of its heart. He withdrew his blade and the darkspawn grunted, falling to the floor with a wet slap against the wood, and he shook away the blood left along the sword’s edge. It was that moment that he noticed the glowing energy overtaking his armor, and for a moment he was blinded by blue-white light that dilated his pupils beyond the realm of vision.

 

***

 

Foolish. She was reckless and unpredictable. One moment Melody was a scared little girl being beaten by the world, the next she was the overeager soldier racing to meet doom with a ghoulish grin. Her mind and her heart were split down the middle, and it left the rest of them scrambling to predict which side would be exposed as they threw themselves into peril.

In the light of the hovering wisp she watched Alistair drive his blade into the rotting folds of flesh of the darkspawn before him, black blood rupturing from the wound and pooling on the floor below. The golden warrior, focused on his task at hand, remained stubbornly oblivious to the second genlock behind him, poised with a club aimed at the back of his skull. His head was thick, she knew, but not thick enough for that fate. She flipped her hand, then ripped apart the veil, drawing forth enough raw energy to make her veins swim with electricity, a ball of thunder hissing agitatedly in the palm of her hand. She stepped next to Wynne, keeping her eyes on the enemies before them, three darkspawn still illuminated in the lavender-white hue of her power. Morrigan snapped her fingers around the spell in her hand, and the energy arced across the dark room, convalescing around Alistair into an armor of light, flickering and cracking so that the shadows on his face danced around his jaw, clamped shut with tension. When the club in the genlock’s hand made contact with the aura, the bones in its body seized as the energy transferred with all the force of the reverse kinetics in its swing. The air filled with the scent of burning flesh, tainted skin bubbling beyond char before the beast fell to its knees, slumping to the floor as she released it from the prison that was its life.

Melody had recovered from her first kill and darted around Alistair as he watched the creature die in wonder. She ducked under a broad swing of Sten’s blade that took off the skull of one of the genlocks, then spun her dual daggers outward as she eased into a slide, coming to a halt with her weapons embedded to the hilt in the remaining two darkspawn. They stopped their snarling, their jaws falling slack as they tumbled backwards to the ground, pulling the slight rogue along with them so that she landed with a grunt of pain between their reeking forms. Morrigan let the fade drain from her fingertips as the red-head sat up, gagging and trying to turn her face away from her conquests.

“That cannot smell pleasant.” Zevran winced with an overabundance of compassion as Alistair lifted her from the carnage, doing his best to wipe a streak of ebony blood from her too-white skin. It smeared further rather than come off, an inky bruise of mottled disease. On another, that mark might have filled them with panic, stricken at the thought of the blight seeping through the flesh and searing away the blood. In her, however, the poison was already present, spawning as it fed on her life force, spreading sickness until her body could bear it no longer. The girl who was leading them was already a corpse, clinging to this world out of a sense of honor that from any other person in the world Morrigan would spurn. With Melody, however, she felt the sharp knife of sorrow as each minute ticked away her short, short life.

Melody glared at the brackish mire along her arm, wrinkling her nose. “Gross.” Her voice sounded strained, air passing through the impossible holes of a sieve, drowning in her own internal tissues. Morrigan snapped her eyes to the old enchanter, who looked as chagrined as she, her arms crossed in defiance of what had clearly been an ill-advised action.

Alistair’s grip on her arm tensed, gloves pressing her into truth he knew she wouldn’t tell. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, just a little banged up.” She winked, but rather than sooth her audience it alarmed them, as the expression gave birth to another wince and a sharp intake of breath.

“Your ribs are broken, and by the sound of it you have a punctured lung. Would you like to sit down so I can do something about it, or are you determined to rush headlong into your death and leave poor Alistair to save Ferelden by himself?” Wynne’s eyes held all the command of a woman who had grasped the reigns of discipline for too many children, and while her jest was light, a refusal would not be accepted. Melody nodded as Alistair looked stricken, guiding her to a seat. Morrigan couldn’t quite tell if she needed the help or if it was more of his overprotective fawning. She wasn’t aware she had moved to take the girl’s other arm until she felt the wet heat of her breath as she struggled to breath, and it was difficult to let go again when she had been seated on a low bench that had survived the skirmish. The ghost of her touch left prickling echoes along her arm, and she rubbed absently at her skin to banish the sensation.

Melody chuckled weakly. “You know, he wouldn’t be alone. He’d still have all of you.” Her words were wheezed through cotton and gossamer pain.

“And then Morrigan would kill him for allowing you to perish.” Wynne muttered, her fingertips glowing green-blue as she crafted her healing spell. The others laughed as Morrigan looked away, crossing her arms in offense. She could only imagine what it would feel like to lose their leader, and it would not be such a leap to think that she might lash out in response. The idea of killing either Melody or Alistair, however, left a horrible sensation beneath the beats of her heart. She brushed off the sentiment, wrapping steel bars around her inner thoughts once more to prevent the entrance of such convoluted feelings. They were polluting her, clouding her vision so that she failed to see her purpose as clearly. It was better that she ignore such things rather than entertain their meaning.

 

*** 

 

She struggled to breath around the burning pain in her chest, but her cracked ribs pinched and stabbed with each intake of air. She reached out, grabbing Alistair’s hand as he frowned down at her, and the pressure of the callouses on his palm was soothing, something to focus on besides her desperate need for air.

“Morrigan would never.” She choked out the words, doing her best to partake in a conversation that sounded like it was being held underwater. She blinked, trying to see through the haze in her eyes, but before she could get them to swim back into view she was seized by the healing magic. Her muscles tensed and she cried out, the spell shifting shattered things back into place with a sickening pop. Alistair’s grip on hers tightened, and she felt the feather soft flutter of small fingertips brush against her shoulder. It felt as though a balloon inside her chest exploded, and then all at once she could breathe again. She gasped in a heaving mouthful of air, swallowing as much as her repaired lungs would allow. The world began returning to the same solid reality that she was used to.

“Better now?” Wynne smiled, shaking away lingering sparks from the fade as the spell died away.

Melody stood, wiping her hands on her thighs and grinning. “Much, thank you.”

Wynne rolled her eyes. “Anytime.”

She surveyed the room, taking in the stack of bodies and the ruined furniture. She could see better than when they had first entered now that the wisp skimmed the ceiling above, playing with the cobwebs as it illuminated the room. She kicked one of the corpses, the body rolling and sending layers of soggy flesh and fat undulating in a mesmerizing motion. “It’s strange we didn’t see any sign of them outside.”

“I find it highly suspect that there was nary a stone unturned until we entered this house.” Morrigan said.

Alistair frowned, looking from Morrigan to the darkened hallway. “What are you thinking?”

Morrigan chewed on her lower lip for half a second, canting her hips to the side. “That perhaps the reason we saw no sign of their passage was that there was never any passage to give sign.”

“They were always in here?” Melody asked.

“Maybe they just wanted to settle down. Plant some flowers, paint the shutters, adopt a bearskarn. Raise a gross, gelatinous family.” Alistair grinned, and Melody did not miss the quirk of Morrigan’s lips before she stifled the smile.

Sten’s voice carried from down the hallway, and the wisp helpfully floated above the door, illuminating the passage so that they could see him. “This is a likely point of entry for the enemy.” He stood in front of the smashed door leading downwards, into the basement.

“Ah, they came from below. What manner of house is this that it has darkspawn bleeding from its seams?” Morrigan tapped a finger against the side of her cheek.

Melody clapped her on the back at the same time she did Alistair, pulling them both into one armed hugs. “Well, I guess we’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

Zevran sighed, looking at her with dejection. “Of _course_ we’re going into the evil, darkspawn filled mystery basement.”

“Welcome to the team.” Alistair told him.

Melody propelled them forward, and they began the trek down the stairs into the blackness, and whatever danger, waited below.


	17. Light Wasn't Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they discover something foul in the basement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a tiny chapter, but it doesn't fit well with the next one so here HAVE IT.

He felt spider webs brush the top of his head as they crept down the stairs, the weight of his armor bending the wood beneath his feet so that it creaked and groaned. The flight seemed uncharacteristically long and dark compared to other, normal houses with other, normal basements. Alistair had a mounting feeling of dread telling him that a normal basement would not be what they would finding waiting for them as they pressed on.

At the foot of the steps, or his best approximation of where the foot of the steps should be, he could just make out the traces of a blue glow coming from the room beyond. Magic sat heavy in the air, toying with the edges of his nerves, his often ignored Templar abilities straining at the back of his mind. It was always strange how it felt to encounter magic, and he never quite expected the reaction that he felt deep in his bones. He had taken lyrium only a handful of times, and even that small amount had been enough to make his tongue feel dry whenever the fade was being called in his vicinity. It grated against his patience every time, distracting him in battle as he tried to convince himself that the magic was on his side, and nothing he should be concerned about. He had never bought into the “all mages bad, Maker only good in the world” rhetoric that the Chantry paraded through all his lessons during training, but it was hard to ignore the level of mistrust he had internalized just from interacting with peers who had held onto fears so deep seated that hating magic was ingrained in their personalities. Mages were capable of a lot of things, many of them dangerous and barely understood, so he couldn’t deny at least some justification for the prejudices. Distrust was a natural reaction when presented with danger, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like he knew a lot about Morrigan and Wynne anyways. For all the knowledge he had, they could all be playing right into their hands. Especially Morrigan, who looked as though she would sell them all to the darkspawn if it got her something she wanted.

He watched Morrigan watching Melody as the rogue found the bottom step, the blue glow of whatever energy was beyond the threshold lighting up her face with flickering sapphire light. He felt a stab of guilt for his train of thought, seeing the witch’s jaw clench with tension as she watched their leader take the first step into the room beyond. That wasn’t the expression of a girl who didn’t care what happened to someone. That was an expression that he could understand and relate to, on levels he never thought he would be capable of. Morrigan might be strange, and she might even be evil, but she was as devoted to Melody as he was, and that was reason enough to stop fearing that she was plotting against them.

“There’s nobody down here.” Melody looked up the stairwell at the rest of the team, her nose wrinkled in confusion as she peered through the misty blue. They filed into the basement, little ducks waddling after their mother, surveying the area to determine what had happened.

Alistair reached the last step and entered the room, and he immediately saw the problem with Melody’s assessment. He sprinted to where she stood and grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the barrier and turning her in the other direction, as though delaying the discovery would make it any less awful. His fingers pressed into her forearm, and she gasped in surprise, blinking up at him, partly in pain and partly in confusion. He could feel the presence of the bodies behind him, their empty eyes staring at the barrier, locked in eternal expressions of hopeless tragedy. He had only looked a moment, but the blood on the ground was enough to leave the image tattooed to the back of his eyes, haunting him even as he slammed them shut and tried to keep Melody from looking around his shoulder.   
  
It was too late for them, and it was too late to prevent anyone else from seeing anything. Wynne fell to her knees in front of the swirling blue, tears already rolling from the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Maker!” She pressed her palm against the barrier and hung her head, and Melody peered around his shoulder to see what had caused the outburst.

Alistair wanted to take it back, he wanted to take all of it away and keep the light in her eyes as bright as it was before any of this had ever happened. Still, she looked, and he was powerless to help her, powerless to keep the horrible truth from destroying another part of her.

Melody brought a shaking hand up to her mouth, her cheeks red with the unshed tears building in her beautiful, perfect, sorrow filled eyes. He put a hand on her shoulder and turned himself around, taking in the scene so that he could remember every detail, and remember exactly what he was fighting against for the rest of his days.

Behind the barrier was a grotesque carnival of murder. Blood caked the floor in layers that stacked one upon the other, some of it still moist enough to reflect back the glow of the magical wall. Pieces of people lay in the crimson lake, fragments of bodies reduced to lifeless shreds of meat, nothing more than echoes of the living beings they used to be. Alistair stared, unblinking, at a hand the size of strawberry, fingers still chubby with infancy left unfurled and motionless. The carnage encompassed the decimation of an indeterminate number of women and children, all of them showered in the flickering glow of the worthless barrier.

Morrigan snapped her fingers, her yellow eyes wide and unseeing. The barrier fell at her command, popping out of existence like a fragile bubble of soap rolled in the wind. Wynne raced across the threshold, her hands pulling magic from the fade with every step, but it was no use. There was no person left to save, nothing salvageable in the massacre. All that laid before them were corpses that never had a prayer.

Melody remained where she was, a hand still covering her gaping mouth, a silent scream darkening the middle of her eyes. She took the horror in with a quiet grace, reacting in the most minimal way possible to reduce the damage she did to herself. He could see her mind breaking apart, another shard falling into the abyss that was eating away at her soul. Every foul thing that happened to her put another crack in her heart, and she would be nothing left but fragments by the time they saved the world.

If they saved the world.

She was frozen that way for another moment before Morrigan enveloped her in pale arms, leading her away from the grave of the fallen. She murmured something in her ear that Alistair couldn’t hear, and Melody nodded, letting her arms drop and allowing herself to be shuffled to the other end of the room. Alistair kept his distance, knowing that there was nothing he could offer her right now to erase the scars on her heart. He could be her light, and he would always be glad to do so, but he knew that sometimes light wasn’t enough. Sometimes she needed someone who understood darkness to guide her away from the gloomy void. He didn’t always understand Morrigan, but he was glad that she could be that for her. She could be the grim countenance that kept the shadows at bay.

“What happened here?” Leliana’s tears stained her leather gloves as she wiped them away, leaving red streaks of agitated skin across her face.

Alistair swallowed the thick mass of bile rising in the back of his throat. “Locked themselves in. It looks like the darkspawn came from below, and they didn’t have anywhere to run.

“They must not have known they were down there, poor souls.” Wynne sniffled around her words, her hands gripping her staff as she struggled to keep calm.

“If the darkspawn came from behind them, what is it that they were hiding from?” Zevran was looking back up the stairwell, his back to the gruesome nightmare before them.

“That is a very good question.” Morrigan exchanged a glance with Alistair, and he knew without a doubt that it would be one they had to answer.

“So, into the mysterious murder cave then, no?” Zevran winked at Melody, who managed a weak smile and a nod.

Alistair took her hand, and they both drew comfort from the contact, however small. Her eyes looked glazed, but she was still with them, her mind not quite closed off as it tried to protect itself. “Alright?”

She smiled, and it was real despite the tenuous tremble on her lower lip. “No, but I will be.”

He leaned over and kissed the top of her head before leading the way to follow Zevran and the others, Morrigan falling in line behind them with a wisp hovering above the palm of her hand.

A light, to keep the darkness from creeping up behind them.

He turned his head to look at the witch, and for the first time he gave her a smile of gratitude. She rolled her eyes, turning her head away to avoid returning the gesture, but Alistair felt good about the exchange all the same.


End file.
